you're looking fine, so fine, oh my
by icings
Summary: A series of drabbles, ficlets, and mini - stand alone fics written to celebrate the relationship between Snow and Charming. All based on reader-given prompts. **Title from U2's "Babyface"
1. 1

**Prompt: "First time Snow sees Charming's possessive side as he claims she's his WIFE..." **

The issue is, she's kind of gorgeous, and men tend to notice things like that.

He'd certainly noticed. But he is allowed to, for that's his ring on her finger, and, so. His. He can notice, and look, and appreciate all he wants.

And he can also glare daggers through all the men who notice too. He's allowed. Because, his. That's the Rule.

He wonders when exactly he became such a caveman, and finds he can pinpoint it at approximately seven seconds before he gained a scar for his chin.

She was his long before she was his, and that makes no sense at all and all the sense in the world.

So he's possessive of her, and he thinks that's okay, except he's glaring at all their knights because they're so damn captivated by their princess, and she's glaring back at him and oh. She might not know about the Rule.

It suddenly seems very important that everyone know about the Rule.

He stands up, not so sudden as to startle everyone, but in such a way that makes it very clear that this discussion - whatever it was about, he doesn't remember - is over. "Gentlemen, you're going to have to excuse Snow and I," he starts, voice carrying and commanding. "There are matters I need to discuss privately with _my wife_."

The emphasis is obvious.

And, there. Seven pairs of eyes that had been far too focused on Snow for his liking fly up to stare at him incredulously, guiltily, and far more gratifying, fearfully.

They'd married in the woods 36 hours earlier. This is the first anyone else has heard of it.

No one dares look at Snow now.

He feels the right side of his mouth quirk up in something of a smirk.

His. Good that everybody's now clear on that.

"Leave us," he finishes.

It's quite fun, the way they all stumble over each other to see who can leave the fastest.

Once the last has left the tent, he steels himself to turn to face Snow, prepared to apologize for acting the ass, in the smugest way possible. (He's not really sorry).

He's not prepared for the look on her face.

It's _heated, _eyes gone dark and promising in a way that he had only learned approximately thirty-four and a half hours ago that her eyes could go.

And that, that's promising.

"Snow," he murmurs…

"That's the first time you've called me your wife," she comments, blandly, or as blandly as possible when her voice has gone _that_ low with _that_ kind of crackling energy. She stands, walks over to him, winds her arms around his neck. "I quite like it."

She slides her lips over his quickly, gently, too much of both to be anything but a dare.

He grins back at her, quick, dangerous. He'd never been one to turn down a dare.

"My wife," he says again, reaching for the fasten to her jacket. "Mine."

He's never going to be able to sit for a conference at that table again.


	2. 2

**Prompt: Snow gives Charming a birthday surprise **

She wonders if it's more than a bit hypocritical, how important his birthday is to her. Her own birthday, after all, is a day she prefers to pretend does not exist.

He understands though, has always understood, in a way that no one else does.

And maybe that's it. Maybe the fact that he's so great about her non-birthday, is what makes her want to make his birthdays so extraordinary. It's a chance to celebrate them both, her as well as him, that she just can't give him on her own birthday.

She thinks that's the best thing she can give him.

So for the week leading up to his birthday, she keeps sneaking away. Each day, she disappears, only for a few hours. It'd be easier to just spend the whole day or two before his birthday with the preparations, but if she were gone for entire days, he would get suspicious.

And also unhappy. He gets irritable when he has to go more than a half day without his wife by his side. And, well, she can have none of that. No irritable for his birthday.

It had taken her awhile to figure out exactly what to do for him. In the early stages of her planning, she'd actually ventured out to his old farm, to see about the logistics of planning a surprise for him there. But, no. King George, in all his cruelty and desperation for vengeance had burned the farmhouse to the ground, set the fields aflame. Time had started to heal the land, as it was plainly in the process of rebirth and renewal. She'd hired a dozen farm workers to help with the process, to heal the land, to help it to grow again, but it wasn't ready to show Charming yet.

No, she'd wait, until she could bring him there and he would only see all there was now, instead of all that he'd lost.

There could be no sadness on his birthday either.

It was okay though. She'd come up with a better idea, a genius idea, when wandering their kingdoms to all the places that had ever meant something to them.

So on his actual birthday, she leads him by hand into the Enchanted Forest. He is blindfolded with one of her own wraps, a cheeky piece of fun she couldn't resist. The wrap she'd worn to their inauguration ball, a night filled with triumph and energy and subtle flirting and fleeting glances and dancing with other people but staring at each other all the while. The ball had gone late into the night, and by the time it finally had ended, they'd driven each other to insanity.

It's actually a miracle the wrap had survived in tact. Her gown and his tunic certainly hadn't.

She'd ordered him to close his eyes before tying the wrap around as a blindfold, so he couldn't see it, but from the instant flare of his nostrils, she knows he recognizes the scent of the perfume that still lingers on it.

She'd only worn that particular scent the once. Special occasion and all.

Even blindfolded, his hands immediately reach for her waist, a smirk playing at his lips, and she has to smack his hands away or else they're not going anywhere.

They'll get there. Just not here.

"Not yet, my love," she whispers coyly. "You're going to have to be patient."

"I've never been great at that," he notes cheerfully.

"Mmm. Then I shall have to teach you that sometimes patience is rewarded."

So she leads him into the woods. It's not a short voyage, not by foot anyway, but she could not allow their driver or any other attendants to join them for this.

She's not completely shameless after all.

They arrive, finally, and she leaps up onto his back with a squeal of delight. He's carried her around like this in moments of childlike fun often enough that catching her is just reflex for him. She kisses him, just below his ear, as a reward, then unties the blindfold.

His sharp intake of breath tells her he recognizes the spot as easily as she always did.

"This was…"

"Yup."

"Where I became Charming."

"To me, yes. The exact spot above which you had me hoisted in a net."

His smile is huge, delighted, and slightly sly, quite plainly reliving the moment in his head, how they'd amused each other.

His reaction makes it worth it, all the effort she'd put in.

She'd recruited the Blue Fairy to help her set the scene, and so there are fairy lights everywhere, that most beautiful innocent form of magic that made it seem as though the very air around them was magical. Lit candles burned around the clearing in addition, adding their seductive scents to the air.

She knows he'll recognize that perfume. It had been difficult to get the candlemaker to agree to add the scent, but she always gets her way on the little details and important things, and this had been a bit of both.

The pile of throw blankets and furs, cushions and silks, she knows how it appeals to them both, a little den of comfort. There's a fine meal and wine, all of his favourites, in a securely latched basket in the middle of it all, and she knows that inside, she'll find the tiny cake that she'd made herself, hours spent in the kitchen experimenting and cursing until she finally got the flavours of cocoa and cinnamon to combine as perfectly as they always did in their hot chocolate.

"Happy birthday, Charming," she whispers in his ear, still happily perched on his shoulders.

He leans back to kiss her, so gently. "Best surprise ever," he murmurs back, then, still carrying her, takes the few steps into the middle of it all, right by the basket.

He can't hold back the yelp of surprise when the trap triggers, and the giant net hoists them twenty feet in the air.

She'd known it was coming, of course, and so she'd twisted herself around so that he was carrying her at his front instead of his back. When the net finally stops bouncing and tumbling them around, he's flat on his back, her body pressed against his, and he looks up at her with an expression of utter bewilderment.

She looks around at her masterpiece with a pleased smile. It had taken some doing, to acquire a net so huge, to thread it with giant pieces of silk, creating silhouetted walls, hiding them from the world outside of the net they're trapped in.

She places a kiss to Charming's neck.

"Lancelot will be coming to cut us down at dawn," she murmurs. "We're on our own for the night, and no one can bother us here."

His eyes widen in awed understanding.

"So," she teases. "Shall we open the wine?"

They do.

A couple of hours later, that is.

At which point she discovers exactly how good it tastes on his skin.


	3. 3

**Prompt: Snow, Charming et al have a family skating adventure **

If she's being honest, and she's usually trying to be, at least within her own head, she'd kind of planned on this being a thing that her parents _weren't_ so completely competent at.

It's overwhelming, that's all. She'd spent time in the Enchanted Forest with her mother, watching her be a badass everywhere, taking out ogres and zombies alike. And then through cruel twist of fate after cruel twist of fate, they'd ended up in Neverland, and oh man, had that been insane. One of the fights against the Lost Boys, she _still_ wishes she could have somehow videotaped. Dad has been taking on three of them at once, and holding his own, but in a bit of trouble, but then he'd reached out with his left arm, linked hands with her mother, and in a move that they'd _certainly_ had to have practiced before, flipped her over his back into the middle of the fight, catching the Boys off guard. It had been 2-on-3 then, and no contest for it, for they'd stayed hands linked the entire fight, and every time one of the Boys so much as gained an inch, they'd do a complicated spin, gain momentum off the other's back, and take 3 inches back.

Two of the Boys were killed. The third called off the others and fled. And her parents had turned to each other, Dad with the biggest shit eating grin, Mom with an eyebrow raised, plainly fighting a smirk.

"Still got it, baby," he'd murmured, dropping the sword in favour of pulling his wife into his arms for an embrace that got Emma right in the secret gooey place she kept feelings and shit. It seemed almost indecent to look upon - unfortunate, as they were all staring at them, jaws dropped - but she couldn't look away, because this, the familiarity of it, made it obvious this was something they'd done many times before. They'd won a fight, together, and when it was over, pulled themselves into each other's arms as though they would never let go, their own, private victory celebration.

It was official, then. Her parents were badasses. Hell, even Regina looked impressed. Hook looked shellshocked. And Gold just looked strangely proud as if he'd planned on this all along. But he always was weird like that.

If she lay awake sometimes even now, thinking about it, imagining a day where she was as awesome as her parents were, well, no one was the wiser.

But today, with so much time passed, Henry back with them safe and sound, she'd kind of hoped for something she'd have to teach them.

That hope went out the window, though, when Snow White and Prince Charming had glided onto the frozen pond as if they were born to it. Mom was grinning, aglow with a childlike sense of delight, and her father watched her with an indulgent smile, and she'd suddenly taken off down the ice, Dad caught off guard for only a second if that, before he'd started chasing her.

The speed, the grace of it was stunning, and damn it, _damn it_, why had no one told her that her parents could probably go to the Olympics in speedskating or ice dancing or something if they'd wanted to?

She was okay on her skates, could even do a little bunny hop if she was feeling hyper, but if she tried to join into this game of tag, at this kind of speed, she'd only manage to get them all skewered with skate blades.

For a few long moments, she just watches them, impressed and frustrated and just a little bit wistful for the childhood with them that could have been, before she gets distracted by the tiny voice behind her.

"Mom?"

She turns around. "Yeah, Henry?"

"I've never done this before. Can you show me?"

And, okay. Secret gooey place she kept feelings on hyper-overdrive mode. She's pleased with herself that she actually manages to keep her voice even.

"Of course, kid. Take my hand. I'll have you ready to skate with NHL players in no time."

Henry is delighted. "Like Crosby?"

Damn it. She should have gotten this kid to a Bruins game before they got all blasted back to Fairy Tale Land.

But then again, Henry's her kid, all amazing and so big and grown up with his own likes and dislikes, and that's so great, and Crosby's as talented as they come, and hey, at least Henry didn't pick someone on Montreal.

"Sure, kid. Just like Crosby."

And she pulls him out onto the ice, shows him how to push to the side with one blade while gliding on the other, and Henry's face is shining with joy the way it always does when he's learning something new, and he's staying completely upright on his feet because she refuses to let him fall.

She may not have gotten to learn to skate from her freaking awesome parents, but she gets to teach her son how to, and that's way, way better than nothing.

Way, way better. Because Henry learns quick - clearly some natural latent Crosby-esque gifts there - and he's soon skating on his own, and her parents have come out of their own little bubble long enough to notice, and Dad disappears into the woods for long enough to come back with 4 fallen tree branches that are suspiciously hockey stick shaped, and there's a stone in his other hand that could just serve as a puck if you squinted at it just right, and _oh_.

"Two-on-two?" Dad asks, so hopefully, and they spend twenty minutes arguing over teams before Henry finally declares boys against girls all wise and whatnot, and on their way over to their side of the ice, Mom's face lights up with spunk and pride and not a little bit of wistfulness, and she mutters under her breath so the boys won't hear, "If we win, I'll show you how to do a toe jump."

She spins to stare at her mother, eyes too wide, too eager, but Mom doesn't seem to mind at all. "_Really_?" she asks.

Mom is smiling indulgently. "When I was pregnant, Charming and I used to spend hours talking about what we'd teach you. How to skate was always on that list. You've learned fantastically on your own, clearly, but I still have a couple of tricks, if you want to learn."

She nods so hard she might give herself whiplash.

"We're just gonna have to beat your Dad's poke-check first."

The adrenaline of competition is already feeding through her veins. "Oh, I'll show him."

They win 6-4.

Mom shows her both the toe and the salchow, while Henry cheers her on, and Dad disappears for twenty minutes only to come back with hot chocolates, and when Mom and Henry aren't looking, Dad sneaks her an extra cinnamon stick with a wink.

Way, way, way better than nothing.


	4. 4

**Prompt: Snowing getting lost in the forest during a free day from the castle **

She is completely, positively, one hundred percent certain she has seen that tree with the low hanging branch six times now.

And she has mentioned said tree to Charming four times already, to the same response.

"We're not lost."

Men.

"Charming…"

He huffs impatiently, pulls his sword from its holder, and uses it to dig the smallest of notches into the tree's trunk. Plucking a wildflower from the base of the tree, he stuffs the stem into the opening he'd created.

"There. If we pass this tree again - which we won't, because we're not lost - we'll know it."

Gods, he delights her.

She lets the laugh escape her, warm and content. "Not bad, Charming. If only you were that bright at navigating."

He only just manages to rearrange his face into a scowl, though the laughter shining in his eyes pretty much renders it moot. "I will have you know, my dear, I am a brilliant tracker."

She tilts her head in acknowledgement of that. "Indeed. You're never once failed to find me. Perhaps you should track the castle now?"

He pushes her away, a teasing shove, light and easy and careful in a way that's completely obvious - he'd never actually hurt her - and so playful it thrills her.

No one else would ever approve, but she's never wanted to be treated like a porcelain doll. And he knows that, gets that, understands that he can push her boundaries further than is generally considered acceptable.

(Makes things fun in bed, too.)

They have fun together, mostly because things have always been so comfortable, so easy between them. They can laugh, they can tease, they can banter - so much banter. And it's all just so good.

So when twenty minutes later, they walk past a tree with a low-hanging branch and a flower sticking out of its trunk, and Charming's jaw drops in horror, she can't help but grin.

"We're lost!" she announces with misplaced giddiness, because really, this is way funnier than it should be.

"This is absurd," he splutters.

She nods, solemn, or as solemn as she can be while trying to keep straight faced. "I have heard that spending hours walking around in circles is absurd."

He looks like he's trying really hard to be offended, but can't quite manage it. It's one of his best qualities, his ability to find the humour in any situation, and he can certainly see it here.

"Okay, oh wise one," he intones. "You lead us now, since you could do it so much better."

She laughs. "You do remember we're in your kingdom this week? What do I know about your side of the Enchanted Forest?"

He shakes his head sadly. "So now your confidence wanes."

Her eyebrow raises practically of its own accord. "Is that a challenge?"

"My dear, if it'll get us back to the castle, it's whatever you want it to be."

Teasingly, she preens, does a couple of stretches, shakes out her curls, and tries very, very hard to ignore the sound of his low chuckle, and the things it does to her. "Well then, follow me. I think our first step shall be to go in the opposite direction you kept going in."

It's going well. The scenery isn't exactly familiar, but that's a good thing, because it's not the same thing over and over again. They both think they're progressing, and relax enough to discuss certain kingdom matters, a tax cut they've been pondering, a few applications by land owners for expansion of their land. The kingdom is doing well since they took over, a point of pride for them both.

When they finally emerge into a clearing, it only takes two steps before they both freeze in place.

There, right there in front of them, is a tree with a low hanging branch and a flower sticking out of its trunk.

The sheer variety of curses she exclaims to the forest is highly impressive.

Charming is trying very, very hard not to smile. It's not going well for him. Again, finding the humour.

"You shush!" she tells him.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it. Loudly."

"Well, it's funny, isn't it? After all that, you've just managed to get us back exactly where I got us. Pity. I had such high hopes for you, woman of the woods. Aren't you supposed to know this forest like the back of your hand?"

"I know my kingdom's side of the forest."

"Ah. Allow me to ask, what is that difference?"

She mock glares at him. "It's a secret. Come here, let me tell you. Closer, closer." She waits until he's right up next to her, bending down slightly, so she can angle her head to place her mouth against his ear, damn near caressing it with her lips - perfect for secret whispering - before yelling right into it, "MY SIDE MAKES SENSE!"

He falls back, startled by the scream when he'd expected a whisper, takes one look at her face, and promptly doubles over and howls with laughter.

"Stop," she tries, but it comes out wheezy with the effort of holding back giggles herself. "Stop laughing…"

It's just not happening. And his laugh gets her, always, so she's laughing, which just makes it worse for him, and before very long they're both hysterical with it.

"Oh how I love you," he finally says, once he's got his breath back. "You make me so happy Snow."

"Love you too. So, so, so much. Now give me a boost."

"Come again?"

"If we can't avoid this tree, then we might as well use it. I'm going to climb up, see if I can see anything to tell us where we are."

He looks impressed in spite of himself. "You always were the smart one."

"Nah, just the one used to using the tools the woods give me."

She climbs without too much difficulty, the tree tall but with many branches to grip. The height of the tree turns out to be an advantage, for with it being just taller than the average, it gives her a sightline above the tree line, and once she reaches the top, she finds she can just see the castle's turrets.

She yells down to Charming, points out the direction they need to go in, and at his nod, makes her way down. She's a branch away, just needs to reach for the low-hanging one, when she notices that the branch is in real danger of falling right off. It's possible it could take her weight, but not all that likely, and though her fall would not be very long, she can't - cannot - bring herself to let that branch fall.

It's their tree. Their stupid, pain in the ass, wonderful tree.

"The branch can't take my weight," she calls down to Charming. "I'm gonna jump from here. You'll catch me?"

"Always."

Trusting him, always, always trusting him, she lets go, lets her body go into freefall just for a few seconds, before she lands smoothly, carefully, in Charming's outstretched arms.

He cradles her like something precious.

"Hi," she murmurs.

"Hi."

For a few long moments, they simply stare at each other.

"We don't have to go back yet," he announces, before kissing her passionately.

"No," she sighs happily, winding her arms around his neck, winding her fingers into his fine hair. "No, definitely not."

They are very, very, very late back to the castle that night.


	5. 5

**Prompt: ****Snowing swordfighting so Snow can practice and who wins gets something very special... Guess who wins? LOL SNOW! LOL**

He's really not sure how she got him to agree to this.

Well, that's not quite right. He's quite clear on how she got him to agree on this, a mixture of begging and pleading and sexual favours, and _damn it_ he has really got to get better at saying no to his wife, because look where always saying yes gets him?

Sleepy and satisfied and agreeing to let his wife try her hand at sword fighting.

_Damn it_.

He'd actually meant to say no. He really really had, the word had been right on his lips, just like it had been the twenty times before Snow had maneuvered him into bed and he'd forgotten no was a word, but now, here, lying in the afterglow, his wife sprawled on his chest wrapped in his arms, he was all good and ready to say no once more.

And "Yes" had come out instead.

_Damn it_.

It's not like she can't take care of herself. He's seen her with a bow and arrow in hand, and is quite convinced that all men the kingdoms over should fear her. She's resourceful and creative and insanely adept at sheer survival, probably better than he, when it comes right down to it.

She'll be brilliant with a sword.

He just can't help the fact that his stomach churns with the mere idea of fighting her. Even play fighting. Accidents happen, and Gods, there's no way she'd agree to the wooden toy swords the children of the villages play with. She'll demand a legitimate fight.

He manages to hold her off, distract her, for the better part of a week. They've got a kingdom to run, after all. But Snow never forgets anything, ever, and doubly so when it's important to her, and when she gets that stubborn set to her jaw, it is.

So when they have a free day, no meetings or open sessions scheduled, she sends him out to the field where he practices and tells him to wait for her.

He spends the wait pacing back and forth across the field, sulking, before deciding that there's absolutely no way he's doing this and Snow will just have to deal, when he looks up and she's walking towards him carrying a sword smaller than his that she'd clearly had the blacksmith craft for her, and she -

_She is wearing one of his tunics_.

And _damn it_, what in the hell is he supposed to do with that?

She clearly hadn't done it intentionally to tease or torture him. If that were the case, she would have gone with a white tunic for he adores the innocent colour on her, or a green tunic to bring out her eyes; but no, she wears a royal blue tunic, a tie around her middle to keep it somehow fitted, the sleeves folded up to let her hands free.

He guesses it makes sense. It's not like any of her own clothes are particularly well suited to sword fighting. And there's not a lot of women's clothes tailored to sporting ventures available in the kingdom (there's never been a woman quite like Snow). So, stealing his clothes is perfectly reasonable on her part.

His heart is pounding. He's concerned he might die.

Why had no one _warned_ him about this?

It's just not fair.

He wants her, wants her an insane amount, wants her in a way he's quite positive he's never wanted her before, and he's spent over the last year of his life wanting her a whole hell of a lot.

And her entire focus right now is on learning how to sword fight.

_Damn it_.

He clears his throat. Tries very hard to think about unsexy things. And regains his focus, because if he's not focused Snow would be in danger, and he will _not_ stand for that, would rather skewer himself through with his own sword and figure out a way to roast himself over a fire before he'd so much as risk harm coming to a single hair on her head.

There. Now he's okay. Now he's ready to teach.

—-

She's amazing.

Actually, really, totally-not-his-bias-talking amazing. And he's not surprised, not really, except he doesn't know how anyone could not be in awe of this, the way she's taking to it, the speed with which she learns, the precision with which she mimics the moves he teaches her.

She's got better instincts for this than even he does. It took a few weeks for him to manage what she is easily copying from him now.

Pride, fierce, fierce burning pride in her coils in his gut.

She teases him, complaining that a bow and arrow is so much more impressive and noble a weapon, requiring far more talented and precision and capability with both hands, and indeed, her one weakness with the sword may be that she's not quite sure what to do with her left hand while fighting, but that's fine, they'll just give her a shield to hold and she'll be perfect.

She's really good. Really, really good. Enough that he's not scared anymore, he's confident, confident enough to taunt her and challenge her, and before he knows it, he's agreed to a duel.

"No letting me win, Charming," she tells him, and it's obvious she's serious. "I intend to beat you fair and square."

"Of course, my darling," he replies with an easy smile. "To reassure you of my sincerity, shall we set a wager on it? You know I never back down from a bet."

Her eyes flash, interested, in a way so familiar to him that he feels the desire for her warm him once more, and he finds himself reminded at the most inconvenient of times that he's about to engage in a swordfight with his wife while she is _wearing his clothes_.

Oh, that's just not fair. And this dance between them requires evening up. Things need to be not fair for her too.

Her smile spreads slowly, and he sees the dare in it. "Terms?"

He doesn't know what possesses him. He swears he doesn't. But he finds himself walking stealthily to close the distance between he and his wife, because he doesn't want any of the castle staff who may have come out to observe this to hear as he whispers into Snow's ear, "Winner gets to tie the loser up."

He tries not to be too smug everywhere as her breath catches then picks up, and her pupils dilate. He swears he can hear her heart pound. All in all she's just radiating interest, and that's just great, because they've never gone there before and he can imagine it, the silks he'd use to tie her down, and oh _Gods_ he needs to win.

She clears her throat three times and still her voice comes out breathier than he knows she'd planned on. "You're on."

It's unfortunate he'd momentarily forgotten how sultry her voice gets when she wants him. Now he has to try and fight her while wildly turned on.

It's okay. He can do this.

They engage in the proper formalities for a friendly fight, bow to each other properly, though Snow's bow is deeper than he would have expected and _yeah_ that was on purpose.

He swallows.

They cross swords.

"En garde," she murmurs teasingly.

—-

_Damn it_.

The spitfire had been holding out on him.

Oh, she was using the sword the way he'd taught her to, exactly, but he hadn't planned on her footwork being this freaking good. He hadn't taught her that, how to use her feet to gain an edge, how to move with the sword like she's engaged in a dance. She'd just picked that up on her own.

And because of that, this aspect of her fight that he hadn't taught and thus couldn't predict, this isn't somehow isn't easy.

He's been on offence most of the fight, but he hadn't managed to get her on her knees yet, which they'd agreed would be the end of the fight and the balance between the winner and loser. A few times, he'd thought he'd had her, but she really was amazing at somehow, miraculously at times, staying on her feet.

It's actually amazing, how seductive this is. Moving together, reacting to the other's movements, like a dance - or, well. It's almost, almost driving him to distraction. He'd never known swordfighting could be sexy, but this feels near hypnotic and he's in the middle of it.

It's only his competitive spirit that keeps him from tossing his sword to the side and engaging her in another, even better dance.

She leaps up suddenly, onto one of the large boulders that border the field they fight in, and he grins, delighted that there's some things she hasn't picked up on her own, for that was a foolish move, with her above him she's given him the advantage, and he moves to force her to her knees, when she feints to the left, luring him towards her, then leaps back to the right, too quick, off the boulder past him, spins around and he -

He's now cornered against that damn boulder.

And he can't jump up backwards onto it.

Her face is shining with triumph.

"On your knees, Charming. Checkmate."

And as he kneels before her, never taking his eyes of her face, her flushed cheeks, her shining eyes, he grins, that burning pride taking over him once more.

He's never wanted her more.

—-

She's got him tied up good. He can't move at all.

He wonders when she learned how to tie a knot this well.

He feels half insane with desire, naked and tied up to his own bed, staring up at his wife while she's looking down at him, eyes dark, pondering where to start the sensual torture of him that she'd so earned.

He's arrogant enough to make a request.

"Leave the tunic on."

The smile on her face is damn near feral.

She does.


	6. 6

**Prompt: ****Snow gets a deep wound to save Charming's life and scares the hell out of him... **

She'd promised him she'd stay out of this one.

Not something she'd usually do, but she'd gotten banged up in the last fight, ending up against a couple of Regina's soldiers who had been unusually well trained and skilled. She'd handled them, but not without taking her fair share of surface wounds, and her left arm - that she'd jutted out defensively a few times - was rather badly cut up and bruised. Again, she could deal, could handle a little pain, but as Doc kept insisting, pain is the body's way of telling you something's wrong, and indeed, her movement was not where it should be.

She could fight, she _could_, but Charming had begged her not to.

"I struggle with knowing you're in danger when you're fighting at 100%. You're not right now, my darling. And I know, I know you can handle yourself, but I'd be distracted looking for you, making sure you were okay, and that's not helpful for either one of us."

No. No, he needs to be focused on keeping himself alive, and she knows him well enough to know that if she were to fight hurt, he wouldn't be paying any attention at all to himself.

She _cannot_ have him in danger for her.

So he's got her there, and he knows he does, because he pushes it just that tiny bit further, cups her cheek in his hand. "Please, my love. Please. Until you are well, don't fight. I need, _I need_ to know that you are safe."

So she agrees. It's agony. But she does what she needs to do for him.

"_Promise_," he insists.

"I promise."

—

And she means it. Truly, she does. She was there for his mother's death, what Ruth's loss did to him. It would wreck him if anything were to happen to her when he expected her to be safe.

So when their camp is attacked, she goes against every instinct in her body, and runs for higher ground, struggling up the escarpment, fighting its steepness until it evens out onto a bank she can wait on.

It's not a bad situation, she thinks, as she looks down upon her camp. Unusual, actually. Regina and George both usually send larger numbers to attack her own tiny force, a measure to counteract the greater skill that she and Charming have been able to assemble. This time, though, it seems as though the fight is fairly even in numbers on both sides, most of the fighting happening in one-on-one battles. It's enough to make her feel wary. For either Regina or George to have sent this small of an attack, either the enemy's forces were more decimated than they'd guessed, or -

The scream gets caught in her throat.

Or it had been a trick to get Charming caught on his own, separated from the rest of their forces, taking on a dozen men himself.

She doesn't know whose force this is yet, but at this point it doesn't matter. The goal of this attack is obvious. George wants Charming dead for his own satisfaction, Regina wants Charming dead because it's the one thing that would destroy _her_.

There would be no coming back from the loss of Charming for her. And her stepmother knows that.

Whoever's army this is, they're here for one reason and one reason only.

They're going for the kill.

—-

Charming's the most skilled fighter these lands have probably ever seen. He's won, rather easily, when severely outnumbered in the past.

He can do this, she tells herself desperately, as she goes skidding down the bank. He _is_ doing this, as the men he fights are falling one by one as he hits death blow after death blow, and he's still standing.

He's still standing, even as he cuts the attacking troop down from a dozen to four, and four he can take care of in his sleep, and it's okay, it's really okay, she thinks, as she freezes just as she reaches the bottom of the bank. He's got this, and she promised, and all will be fine -

There's the slightest flash of light that there shouldn't be, six feet away from him, a reflection of the moon that shouldn't be there, there's no explanation for it, in the middle of the forest's shadows, at Charming's back, for there's now only two remaining and they have suddenly grouped together directly in front of him in a strategy that makes no sense, unless they were trying to keep his attention entirely ahead of him, and…

_No_.

She dives on the man preparing to drive a massive sword through Charming's back just as he strikes the final pair down, and the attacker, the _bastard_ who would stab an unknowing victim in the back, is caught entirely off guard. They stumble to the forest floor together, and he lashes out at her in a panic, and pain, pain, pain but Charming is alive, Charming has won his fight, Charming is safe, and Charming is looking right at them, horror and murder waring in his eyes, and he stabs his would be assassin right through, and for a second, just a second, she tries to reach for him, but he's blurring right in front of her, and pain, pain, pain, too much pain, and the blessed blackness is reaching for her, and then -

Peace.

—-

Her own screams are what wakes her up, though the first thing she's really conscious of is Doc's agonized voice.

"Sn…Snow… I know it hurts… you… you have to… let me clean it. Snow… Snow…"

"Lemme hold her."

_Charming_. Broken and breaking down, and beautifully, beautifully alive Charming.

"Your highness…"

"If you have to do this to her, let me hold her through it!" he demands, and the terror is making his voice go far sharper than he would ever use with her friend, and she needs, she needs to reassure him, needs to make her eyes open.

"Charming…" she moans.

And maybe that's all she needs, just needs him, for she forces her eyelids open, and there, there, there, that's it, that's all she's ever needed, just him.

He looks exhausted and pale, the bearings of a man terrified, and he's kneeling by her side in a second.

"Baby," he whispers, and out of the corner of her eye, she can just see Doc stiffen, uncomfortable, and turn away, trying to give them some kind of privacy. "Baby, you're okay, you're going to be just fine, but Doc needs to clean and re-bandage your wound, and we know it hurts, but we need you to stay still."

"You'll hold me?" she asks him. "Doc, you have to let him hold me."

"You can't move," Doc says, voice shaking as he turns back to them. "I could make things worse for you if you don't stay absolutely still."

"I can do it if you let him help me,"

Doc closes his eyes in acceptance. "Hold her tight, your highness."

She tells herself she won't scream this time, won't do that to Charming and Doc again, let alone who else may be in earshot of the medical tent, but that goes out the window as soon as Doc lays hand on the open wound on her side again. It's agony, pure and utter agony, and the sob that escapes her sounds like a mortally wounded animal even to her own ear.

It's everything she can do to keep her body motionless, and indeed, she suspects that it's as much Charming's doing as her own, and it's never ending, it seems as though it won't ever stop, and she thinks she might be begging, pleading for mercy, asking for it to be over, and she doesn't know what she's saying out loud and what's just in her head, but she fears a lot of it's out loud because somewhere in there she can hear Charming whispering soothing things, telling her how much he loves her, but he doesn't sound the same, because he's crying, crying with her and then just when it's too much to bear -

It's over.

"You did great," Doc chokes, and she feels herself shudder, because however long that took, it was torturing her husband and one of her dearest friends every bit as much as it was her.

"I'm sorry…" she tries.

"No! You do not apologize for that," the dwarf demands. "You don't get to. You did great. The wound is redressed now… you got very lucky Snow, near as I can tell the sword did not hit any internal organs, and you will heal entirely. We may… I think Grumpy has left camp to find the Blue Fairy. We wanted to try magic to speed the process and… and make it so it's the last time we have to clean the wound that way."

She winces.

"Thank you," she breathes. "For everything."

"No need to thank me," her friend mutters, and she can tell he's finding the tent claustrophobic, that he needs to get out of there, and before she can tell him to go, Charming excuses him, and as Doc nearly falls to his knees in his bow of gratitude, then runs from the tent nearly as fast, she feels a swell of love for her husband, who had so embraced her friends as his own.

She stares up at him now.

"You need sleep," she whispers.

"I need to watch you," he corrects. "I'll sleep when you're better."

She swallows. "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that, and yet I still haven't figured out one thing you need to apologize for."

"I promised I would stay out of the fight."

"Yes," he agrees. "And yet I sit here with you now, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I owe you my life, again."

The memory of how close it had been is more agonizing than the pain she still feels in her side.

"He would have killed you. The bastard was going to stab you in the back."

Charming nods. "I suspect that was the plan the whole time. Dishonourable homicide, punishable by execution in the high courts, but I doubt George gives a damn about that anymore."

"George?"

He tries to smile ironically, but it doesn't really get anywhere. "You think Regina would have gone to all that trouble just to get me stabbed in the back in an ambush?"

She closes her eyes. "Not unless she was sure I was right there to see it."

"Sounds about right."

"What did we ever do to deserve them? Evil step-mommy and evil fake-daddy, we make quite a pair."

He manages the laugh this time, though it's deflated.

"We always have," he mutters.

They're quiet for a long time, long enough that she would wonder if he had fallen asleep if she didn't know him well enough to know otherwise.

"You scared the hell out of me," he finally says.

"I know."

"I can't go through that again."

"I know."

"And yet you would do it again." The statement is flat and certain, not a question, but she answers anyway.

"Yes. Just as you would for me were the situations reversed. It was your life at stake. I did what I had to do."

"I know," he sighs, and she manages to smile.

"You mean more to me than my own life, Charming. If it's me or you, my instinct is always going to be you, just as yours would be me. That's who we are, we knew that when we fell into this thing together."

"A more romantic way of putting love, I've never heard. You should be writing sonnets."

She giggled, then groaned, regretting it. "Okay, no laughing for awhile."

"Grumpy will be back with the Blue Fairy soon."

"Good."

"Good," he agrees. "I need your laugh."

"So I'm forgiven?" she asks, carefully. "For breaking my promise?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he murmurs, kissing her forehead. "There's an extenuating circumstances clause built into those kinds of promises."

"You're just saying that in case you ever have to break a promise to save me."

"You know me well."

She shakes her head. "I love you well. With everything I have, I love you."

"I love you too."

She leans back into his arms, urges him to help her, to lie back with her. Looks up into his eyes, so much calmer already than the panicked, violently stormy blue they'd been only minutes earlier.

She speaks again at the exact moment he does.

"Sleep now, baby."

They do.


	7. 7

**Prompt: Before the events of "7:15" Charming, while on a hunt, saves a damsel in distress only to find out said damsel is Snow **

He enjoys the thrill of the hunt.

Just… not the way everyone else does.

He's never going to be one to love the idea of killing animals for sport. For survival? Sure. But as a game, no.

No, he finds his thrill in getting to leave the castle, from going beyond the walls that had become his prison.

He knows King George doesn't trust him. Knows he suspects something went wrong with his 'scenic route' voyage of a couple months back, for he has never been quite the same since, prone to lapses in focus and dreaminess and a complete lack of interest in the lovely blonde princess and the elaborate plans for a wedding that also happens to be his.

The bastard wouldn't let him leave the castle if he could help it.

But hell, Prince James loved the hunt (_he_ loved to kill for the sport of it), and if they're going to maintain the ruse, if he's going to be James, he must be allowed to leave the hunt.

All the better that King George was unable to attend the most recent excursions, as his knee has not been strong enough since he took a fall a fortnight earlier.

(It really was strange, how his chair had crumbled from beneath him at dinner like that. Almost as if someone had damaged the legs with his sword or something).

But, hey, what did he know.

But without the threatening presence of his fake-daddy, he was always able to enjoy himself. Freedom, he finds, is a blessed gift, even if it only comes in increments of a couple of hours.

The best part of all was that Prince James had apparently been in the habit of sauntering off on his own during hunts with alarming regularity. Got bored with everyone else easily, so beneath his own skills were they.

Hey, if he's going to play the part properly.

He probably went wandering off on his own too early this time, abandoning the hunt an hour into it, but he thinks he played it off well. Sneers, scoffs, and saunters away, and from what he's heard of James, that much sounds about right.

(He hates that he had a brother he never met. Hates more that he hates the guy anyway.)

He thinks it's unlikely that the other men will catch anything at any rate. It's early winter, most of the fauna are long gone; those who have stayed will have gone into hiding. This pleases him. No one's going to expect him to come back with a catch, and he gets a couple of hours by himself to wander the woods on a cool, fresh winter's morning.

It's not perfect, but it's the closest he gets in this farce of a life.

He heads down to the bluffs, loving the view there, especially after a light snow. All harsh colours - deep and dark - and bitter lines, the landscape is stunning to look at. Generally reflects his mood fairly well too, which he can appreciate.

Today, however, his guard is up soon after he arrives.

This area is not usually populated, but indeed today, he can see a lone hooded figure far up the way, struggling along the trail with an over-large sack on their back, moving with the slow gait of someone who has been travelling for a very long while.

He's not the only one who has noticed. There is a trio of men watching the lone figure, and he knows the look of them well, has seen many like them paraded in front of himself and King George for having committed petty crimes.

Overly dangerous criminals, these men are not. Thieves? Without a doubt. And whatever the lone figure is carrying, this trio has decided they want.

They've surrounded the loner, two of them grabbing him while the other wrenches the bag from their grip.

He feels his face set in a scowl even as he starts running over.

—-

They're good.

The loner, he means. They're putting up a heck of a fight, clearly not willing to give up whatever it is they were carrying, and he thinks that they'd be alright, except the snow was recent after a long period of rain, and the pass has iced over, and as the loner manages to break free of the hold the two men have on him or her, and make a rather impressive snatch of the bag, their legs start slipping out from under them, and to his own inward breath of horror, he or she slips off the edge of the cliff, hanging on by their fingertips and damn it, damn it, still refusing to let go of the bag.

He runs faster.

The trio of men don't seem to know what to do, and his stomach sinks even as he pushes himself faster, faster, because if they were going to help the loner, they would have done it by now.

"HELP THEM!" he yells from fifty feet away now, but that was the wrong thing to do, because as if sounded by the shot of a gun, the three men make a run for it, scattering in all different directions, leaving the loner to fend for themselves.

Leaving the loner to die.

—-

He makes it.

He doesn't know how. Doesn't understand how he's there in time. By all accounts, this person shouldn't have been able to hold on for this long, scrambling, legs flailing out into only open air.

He throws himself on his knees to the edge of the bluff, grabs the person's hands - literally as all that was left was nails scrapping at the ground desperately for some kind of hold.

"I'm here!" he yells to them, "I won't let go!"

And she - for he can now tell it's a woman, her body so slight - she seems to startle somehow at the sound of his voice, and she looks up at him, and her hood falls back and -

_Snow_.

A gut-wrenching horror twists his stomach, and he would later think that he was very lucky that he hadn't been sick right then and there.

No, no, no, no, no not _her_. Not her, in mortal danger, fighting for her life.

She's pale, so damn pale, eyes wide, dark and terrified.

He wonders helplessly why she didn't scream. Wonders then if she's too frightened to speak.

"Please," she's mouthing. "Please, please, please."

And for the love of Gods, she's dangling off the edge of a cliff that's a 200 feet drop into the only semi frozen over sea, and _she's still hanging on to the damn satchel_.

"Drop the damn bag, Snow!" he roars. "It's weighing you down!"

She shakes her head, desperately, and he could throw things at her obtuse stubbornness.

"Please," she mouths again.

And it's rather a shock, as if she'd hit him over the head one more time, when he realizes that there is no way he is leaving this jagged peak without her.

He will save her.

Or he will die trying.

—-

"I really hope we don't die for whatever the hell's in that bag!" he snaps, and of all things, it's that which snaps her out of her speechlessness.

"We're not going to!" she cries up to him, finally. "You're going to save me. I trust you!"

He takes a deep breath. "You're going to have to help me. I can't pull us both up off the edge on my own."

She nods her understanding. "I'm ready. Come on, come on!"

"You're going to have to steady your feet on the edge of the bluff, as if you're walking up it. It's the only way this is going to work."

She nods again.

"I won't let you go," he promises.

"I know," she whispers, but she might as well have screamed it for what it did for his head and heart.

(He understands).

—-

It's slow going.

He inches backwards on his knees, pulling her up. She does as instructed, and it works. Slowly, slowly it works. There's a couple of times where she loses her footing and scrambles for a few seconds while crying out, but he keeps his promise and his grip on her.

Eventually they have her high enough where he thinks he can grab the bag from where it hangs off her shoulder. He suggests this to her, and tries not to think too hard about what it says in her absolute trust in him that she agrees.

She lets go with her right hand to allow the bag to swing free, and in a wild stab for it, he manages to grab it quickly, then toss it somewhere behind him, safe on steady land.

"I _really_ hope that was worth it!" he yells as he snatches her hand again.

She actually manages to grin, of all ridiculous things considering she's still hanging off a cliff. "It was," she promises.

He shakes his head at her, maddening woman, but having lessened her weight in such a way, it gets easier, and working together again, they manage to get her pulled up high enough that her entire upper body is above the edge of the cliff.

In a leap of faith, he lets go of one hand, then the other, in order to wrap his arms around her middle in a bear hug, and pulls.

It's when he falls onto his back with her still in his arms that he finally accepts that they're both safe.

They're both gasping for air, and he's trying hard not to think about the fact that she is _lying on top of him_, still wrapped in his arms.

Because that's only giving him really really stupid, really really impossible, really really _wanted_ thoughts of spending the rest of his life waking up in the mornings, exactly like this; going to bed in the nights, exactly like this.

_Damn it, you idiot_, he thinks. _Don't want what you can't have_.

"Are you alright?" he asks, pulling them into a seated position, then pulling back, away from her, out of his own self-preservation.

He tries, and fails, to ignore the hurt in her eyes before she can hide it with guardedness.

"I'm fine," she murmurs, not looking him in the eye anymore. "Thank you." She looks up again then, as if afraid her gratitude would seem insincere. "Thank you for saving me. It would seem as though I owe you my life again."

He shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure we're probably even on that count."

She raises an eyebrow. "No, I'm positive you've got one on me now."

He manages to huff out a laugh. "I think the save from blood-thirtsy trolls counted double."

She smiles, genuinely at that, and he _wants_. "I'll take the style points if you're offering."

He looks away, before he does something really stupid like acting what that smile does to him, and out of the corner of his eye, sees the bag that she fought so desperately to save.

"Hey, here," he starts. "If this was so completely worth saving, let's just make sure everything's here…"

"No, wait!" she tries, but just a little too late, as he already has the satchel open, and stares inside, disbelievingly.

He is staring at a small, but clearly carefully chosen, selection of children's toys and sweets.

She has blushed bright red, and is definitely not looking at him anymore.

"I… um…" she stumbles. "I found a place to stay for the winter, in the village beyond Jagged Peak Cross. They're not… they're not well off, the people there, but they've helped me anyway. There's not much I can do to thank them, but I thought… I just… I wanted to give the kids a Christmas, that's all."

He stares at her, all the while holding a stuffed bear that would have been his dream come true when he was a small child.

"It's silly," she says, self-depreciating when he doesn't reply.

"No," he says thickly. "It's not. It's… it's the kindest thing I've ever seen anyone do."

She laughs. "Funny thing is, you've been on the run for as long as I have, you gain a different definition of kindness."

He swallows, _wanting_.

"Can I do anything-" he tries.

"No," she cuts him off, quickly. "No, I'm okay. I don't… I appreciate it, Charming, but I can't owe anyone anything else. I can't owe you anything more. I have no way to pay it back."

He is amazed by how badly that breaks him, but he nods, accepting, and hands the bag over to her, along with the bear, that she clutches to her chest as if needing something to hold.

"If you need _anything_," he tries again.

"You'll find me," she says, confidently.

"Always," he says with a half smile, remembering.

Her smile back is genuine. "I know," she says, and that's new.

She turns and walks away, not looking back.

He watches until she's out of sight, and for a long time still afterwards.

—-

He does not go on the Christmas Day hunt. Begs off of it, claiming a chill from the last hunt. He'd come back so cold from the last one that even the King, old bastard that he is, doesn't question it.

He spends his Christmas in bed, staring out towards the window, wondering how he managed to fall in love with Snow White like some kind of idiot.

—-

On Christmas morning in the village just beyond Jagged Peak Cross, every child wakes up with squeals and screams, for they all find at the foot of their bed, a stuffed animal of their very own, each with a candy tucked in the carefully tied, brightly coloured bow at its neck.

But having left the village, for good, in the dead of night, Snow White is no where to be found to be thanked.


	8. 8

**(_Author's Note: I've never liked that Charming's real FTL name is David. So as I did in Freedom Love, and I will will continue to do in all future fics I write, I took creative license and made his real name Aaron). _**

**Prompt: ****AU! James is Snow's fiancé, they're in the woods and he tries to convince her to give in to him but then Charming arrives.. **

The guy was drunk off his ass.

She'd been close to throwing a massive hissy fit - her first since she was twelve years old - when she'd found out the truth about her betrothal.

_"I won't do it," she insisted fiercely, fighting tears. "I won't marry him." _

_"Just give it a chance," her father said, weary, age showing so much more than she was used to. "Meet with him. If you can't do it still afterwards… I'll meet with George, try and figure something else out. But for me, give it a chance. You owe it to the kingdom to try." _

She'd agreed to a walk in the woods.

And the guy was drunk off his ass.

He wasn't a horrible person, she thought, as they circled the woods, a hand on his arm for no reason other than to help keep him steady on his feet. A chatty drunk. Arrogant, no doubt, and pompous. Flirtatious, with every other word he says, and she suspects she's supposed to find it - him - desperately attractive. She suspects she's meant to want him, all the sharp glint in his eyes, and devilish smirk on his undoubtably handsome face. She suspects many woman would kill to take her place.

She has a lot of suspicions.

And none of them, absolutely none of them, do anything for her.

As he goes through another desperately boring story of another of his most epic kills (she suspects he has stories enough to last days), they emerge into a clearing, backing onto some fenced in farmland, and she leans back against the fence, tries not to heave too big of a sigh.

He cuts himself off in the middle of one of his stories, which surprises her. (It's honestly the most interesting thing he's done all day).

"I know you're unhappy," he says, slurring, and she's amazed he's capable of that kind of perception, especially considering he's clearly trying to look deep into her eyes and is only managing to actually make eye contact with one of them. It's weird. She adjusts her position so that they're making full eye contact, hopes he doesn't notice the change. "I'm not… I'm not thrilled either."

"I'm shocked," she comments blandly, ironically, though he's too drunk to know he's being made fun of.

"We find out we've been betrothed since birth, a fact that neither of our fathers bothered to tell us until now…"

Salt, meet open wound.

"And it's unfair," he continues. "It's not fair to you, it's not fair to me, and it sucks all around. But I am not… I am not a bad man, Snow White," he says, crowding her back against the fence, hands reaching to hold the posts on either side of her, trapping her against his body and the fence.

She can smell his wine coated breath, feels desperately claustrophobic, and hates it.

"Please back off," she asks. "You're making me uncomfortable."

Either he doesn't hear her through his drunken stupor, or simply chooses to ignore her. "You are beautiful," he murmurs. "Perhaps we can make the best of a bad situation."

He leans in, she leans away.

"No," she snaps. "I don't want this."

Anger flashes in his eyes through the haze. "I don't think you have much of a choice in the matter. It's decided. Our fathers chose for us when we were born. All we can do, is deal with it."

Her stomach sinks, knowing he has a point.

He leans in again, slower this time, and she stares at him, wondering if she should just let him.

He's interrupted, however, by someone behind them.

"I believe the lady said 'no'."

James pulls away, muttering under his breath, "what the hell…" then turns around. Grateful for the escape opportunity seemingly magically granted, she slips out from against the fence to stand next to James, rather than trapped against him.

She imagines her jaw drops just as James' does.

"What the hell…" the prince says again.

The man standing before them looks _identical_ to James.

—-

Well, there's differences. This guy's hair is shaggy, as if it's never been cut, and he has a few days' growth of beard, as if he hadn't had the chance to shave. His clothes are cobbled together, dirty and poorly made, and she knows the look of someone desperately poor when she sees him.

His eyes are kind.

But other than that, the two men could be twins.

The stranger looks stunned too, but pulls himself together well. "You are on my land," the man says. "And here, when a woman says 'back off', you back off."

Okay, she likes this guy.

And she suspects that James didn't hear a word he just said, still staring at him, bewildered.

"Okay," he finally says, pointing at the stranger. "Either I'm really drunk or that's really weird."

The stranger rolls his eyes, looks like he's hiding a smirk. "Both. Always go with both."

"Okay," James says again, swaying on the spot. "Who are you?"

The other man heaves a very put-out sigh, looking very much as though he's tired of dealing with James already, and she wishes very much she could tell him to try spending all day with the guy, see how much he likes that.

She has to wonder if he somehow knows what she's thinking, or can guess, because he suddenly delivers her a conspiratorial smile, and she's stunned by the way her stomach flips in response.

"I'm your conscience," the stranger says seriously, and the giggle escapes her before she can control it. She claps her hands over her mouth, but James seems to have noticed nothing, nodding slowly as if any of this makes sense.

"Okay," James says, as if he's lost all ability to say anything else. "What should I do then, conscience?"

Oh Gods, does she want to laugh.

So does the other guy, by the looks of things. "Conscience says go to sleep."

"Yeah, okay," James says, and to her very delighted amazement, he passes out right then and there, falling to the ground in a heap.

She does laugh then, and so does the other guy.

"Drunk off his ass, isn't he?" the stranger asks, coming up close to peer at James' crumpled form. "I didn't think that would actually work."

She grins at him. "Charming," she says without thinking, then blushes pink. Which is weird, because that's not a thing she does.

He looks sheepish. "I'm sorry. I heard the two of you talking, and it just seemed as though his advances weren't exactly welcome. If I've intruded, if I've overstepped my bounds…"

"You did nothing but save me from what would have been a very terrible mistake," she interrupts. "And you have my gratitude for it."

He seems mollified at that. "And you are alright?"

"I am," she says. "He didn't touch me. Made me feel uncomfortable, made me feel trapped, but didn't touch me."

He nods, accepting. "Then I have done what I wished to."

"Can I ask…" she tries, then finds she cannot find words, gestures between him and James' prone, sleeping body on the ground.

He seems to get it. "I have no idea," he says. "I've been told many times by many different people that I look something like the prince, but that was… unexpected."

She raises an eyebrow. "You know we are royal?"

Again, he looks sheepish. "The clothing you wear was something of a giveaway."

She smiles at him. "Rather presumptuous of you to jump into a situation between two royals. Brave, too though."

Something changes in his eyes, looks impossibly tender and kind. "I may just be a lowly shepherd, he may be a prince, and you may be the most beautiful princess in all the realms, but in my books a man is only a man if he treats a woman with respect. He wasn't listening to you. Perhaps it wasn't my place to step in, but I wasn't going to stand by and watch as he did something you didn't want."

She would fear her whole face had lit up, but she finds she doesn't care.

"Charming," she says again.

He chuckles, lowly, and the sound of it does something to her insides that she both doesn't want to think about, and desperately wants to explore more.

He shakes his head. "I have a name, you know. It's Aaron."

She bites her lip, tilts her head to the side, coy. "I still like Charming better."

He laughs, but says nothing, tacitly accepting the nickname as his own.

She smiles at him, fond, already so fond. "I'm Snow White."

He reaches to shake her hand, but doesn't let go right away, rather holds it, strokes his thumb over top lightly, and she has to hope he doesn't see her suck in a breath.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Snow," he murmurs, and she knows she's in trouble.

—-

It's late by the time she makes it back to her castle. She goes straight to her fathers offices, knocks on the door, opens it.

"I will not marry Prince James," she says as soon as she enters. "I tried. As you asked of me, I tried. And I won't do it."

Her father looks at her carefully, then nods.

"Then we shall find another way," he says. "I won't have you unhappy, my daughter."

She smiles at him, soft, radiant. "It's alright, Father. I think I'm well on my way to finding my own path to happiness."


	9. 9

**Prompt: Charming has the flu and is confined to bed. He's bored as hell so Snow brings him someone he can play with...A little sheep! **

He doesn't get sick. It just doesn't happen.

He's got a great immune system. It's a thing.

Maybe he takes pride in it. Maybe he boasts about it, just a little bit, whenever Snow comes down with the flu and insists he not come too close to her, for fear of him getting it too.

Well, anything that keeps him away from his wife is a giant load of crap that he refuses to accept.

"It's fine," he'd insisted the last time, as he wrapped his arms around his weary, sniffling wife. "I never get sick."

"One of these days you will, and you'll regret it," she croaks. "You're tempting fate, right now."

"Hmm," he hums, reaching for her face, pulling it to his. "If that's the case, I'd better make it worth it, don't you think?"

She does her best to argue, but every scolding word she says is against his lips, so he thinks her point is made somewhat ineffective.

—-

He doesn't think much of it when his throat starts hurting. He has to talk a lot. It's a prince thing.

When he gets stuffed up, it's the time of year. It's spring, the leaves are coming out on the trees, and he's pretty sure that if he wasn't sneezing everywhere he'd have problems.

The headaches? He challenges anyone in any kingdom anywhere to deal with the nobles he has to on a daily basis and not get a headache.

But when he wakes up in the middle of one night in a cold sweat… well, that might be a problem.

"You're sick, Charming," Snow mutters sleepily from beside him as he struggles to both kick off all of his covers, and not disturb hers.

"I don't get sick," he insists, finally managing to get every last blanket off him, lying back in satisfaction, then realizing with a dawning horror that he is now suddenly shivering from cold.

His wife deems it necessary to crack open one eye to look at him. "That's interesting, considering that you're sick."

"Not!"

"Mmm," she hums. "We'll see how you feel about that in the morning."

—-

Morning sucks.

Every bone in his body aches, worse than if he'd just finished a joust. He wakes up wondering if moving ever again is really necessary, strictly speaking.

But he's _not_ sick.

He drags himself out of bed with nothing but a stubborn sense of willpower, makes it all the way to the door of the royal suite, taking careful, plodding steps the whole while.

The door opens just as he readies his arm to reach for the latch, his wife walking in, balancing a tray with a bowls of steaming oatmeal, and two mugs.

Snow takes one look at him and laughs.

"Stubborn fool," she chides. "I knew you would try to make it to the meetings. But it's not happening. I've taken care of everything, meetings cancelled, we've got the day off, back to bed with us both."

He stares at her, honestly bewildered. "But you're all better now?"

She hums in agreement. "But you're all sick now, and someone needs to take care of you because you certainly won't."

"Not sick," he insists, even as he takes the offered mug from her, and takes a healthy gulp of tea. He can't taste it, but the feeling alone of drinking something hot is wonderful.

"Uh huh," she says, eyebrow raised.

He doesn't even want to dignify that with a response.

—-

It's actually nice, spending the day with her quietly in bed. Different. Usually every time he gets more than five seconds alone with her, he's jumping her, or she's jumping him, or they're jumping each other for a little variety.

But this, this he likes. Not as much, granted, not nearly as much. But lying back in bed, while she strokes her fingers through his hair, telling him stories of little things about her that he hadn't known before - such as the doll she had when she was young, and the time she asked her parents for a second one so that her first could have a sister - well, all things considered, it's a pretty great way to spend a day.

She knows him, knows him well, so she basically serves as his human thermometer all day, pulling up the covers when she knows he's cold, and throwing them off when she's figured out he's gotten overheated. He doesn't have to put any effort into anything at all, which is what he really needs right now.

You know, not that he's sick or anything. He could do everything himself. But it's nice when someone's offering to do it for him.

"You couldn't cancel the meetings tomorrow?" he asks.

"No," she sighs. "I'll have to attend tomorrow."

"I'll be coming too," he declares, determined.

She laughs at him. "You absolutely will not. You're staying in bed again. I will tie you down if I have to."

He pulls a satisfied smirk out from somewhere, smiling at her as dirty as he knows how. "Well, that was fun the last time."

She rolls her eyes. "How you can still have such perverted thoughts when you're this sick, I'll never know."

She's blushing pink though, so he thinks he's won this one.

—-

He wakes up alone the next morning, weak, and exhausted, as though he hadn't slept at all, when in fact he'd slept for far longer than he should have. Frustrated too, knowing he's running late for the meetings, he heaves himself out of bed with a mighty effort.

He makes it three steps across the room before he falls flat on his ass.

"What the hell," he mutters, then looks down.

The minx had actually tied him by the ankle to the bedpost while he was sleeping.

"You've got to be kidding me," he announces to no one, laughing. "She thinks this will work?"

Still chuckling, he bends down to untie the knot.

Twenty minutes later, he's still swearing at it. He's pretty sure he's actually somehow making it worse, and it's infuriating, knowing that his wife somehow learned how to do super-indelible knots without telling him.

What's worst of all, on top of the wardrobe ten feet away, he can see a knife that he is positive wasn't there the night before. All he needs to get himself loose is _right there_, but there is no humanly possible way he can reach it.

The little evil genius is taunting him.

She will rue the day. _Rue_ it.

Just as soon as he can get out of bed.

—-

She gets back, many hours later, to find him still sitting on the floor of their room, glaring at the knot that, through his efforts, had swelled to about three sizes bigger than it had been originally.

She tries hard to hold back her laughter, but it escapes her in a snort.

"You couldn't give up and go back to bed?"

"That would be admitting defeat, my dear," he responds with whatever dignity he can muster.

"Yeah, sitting on the floor glaring at it all day instead, that really showed me."

He pulls himself up, finally, throwing his body onto the bed in a huff. Amusement and pride in her, however, are emotions he will never be able to hide, and he lets himself laugh. "Where in the world did you learn to tie a knot like that?"

She smiles at him, too fond. "You learn many things on the run."

"_Teach me,_" he demands, too tired to worry about how much of a whine is audible in it. "I'm _bored. _There's nothing to do when you're not here."

"Too bad for you, after spending all day sitting on the stone floor instead of in bed like you should have been, you'll have to stay in bed again tomorrow to rest up."

He doesn't even bother hiding his horror. "But, but, but…"

"No buts. You'll have to find some other way to entertain yourself," she declares as she moves to blow out the candle on their bedside table.

"But I'm not sick!"

"Sure you aren't, dear."

—-

He wakes up the next morning, reasonably convinced there is something staring at him. Opening his eyes, he finds that gut instinct is entirely accurate.

There is a tiny, adorable, fluffy, innocent, young, perfect lamb lying in his bed with him.

It's the most absurdly out of place thing he thinks he has ever seen, yet he could not be more delighted. He hasn't been around any sheep, let alone a baby, since he was forced to leave his farm so long ago.

"Hi little one," he murmurs, gentle. "Has she decided you're keeping me company today?"

There is a bow around its neck, with a note tucked in it. Shaking his head in amazement, he reads it out loud. You know, in case the lamb is curious too.

"Stay in bed one more day, and then we'll talk. Hang out with this little girl if you're bored. There's a bottle for her on the end table." He looks - there is. "She takes on the mood of whoever she's hanging out with, so if you're bored, play. If you're tired, sleep. She'll doze off with you. Be warned, she's a cuddler.

She also needs a name, so that's your first order of business.

Everyone needs someone to take care of them when they're sick. Not that you are, or anything."

He finishes the letter, glances over at the lamb, still watching him curiously. "She is something else now, isn't she? Penny. I think your name is Penny."

—-

He feeds her. He plays with her, a game of their own invention where he lets her loose in their bed and he has to try to grab her. She's a fast little thing, and she escapes him more often than not, which seems to amuse her, cheeky little thing.

(He is forcefully reminded of Snow, and that entertains him more than anything else).

When he tires, he lies back, lets the lamb curl up into his side. Petting it, and with nothing else better to do, he begins telling Penny his life story. Beginning, of course, with the time he got knocked out with a rock wielded by the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on, because as far as he's concerned, that's where his life begins.

He interrupts himself several times though, to explain to Penny that he's not sick. Because he never gets sick. That's an important part of his life's story, he thinks.

And when his throat gets too sore to continue talking, he writes. There's paper and ink close enough to him that he manages to grab it, and so he continues his story in his slightly messy scrawl.

(He continues to intersperse his story with notes reminding Penny that he's not sick. Oddly enough, she keeps eating those ones.)

—-

After a very, hopelessly long day, Snow makes it back to her chambers, and ends up having to freeze at the door, hand to heart, just to take a mental picture of the scene, make sure she never loses it from her memory.

Both husband and lamb are sound asleep, the lamb curled up on Charming's chest.

It's quite possibly, the cutest thing she's ever seen.

Their bed is littered by papers, dozens of them, and out of confusion and curiosity, she picks one up.

_Here's the thing, Pen. I'd give it all up. All the riches, all the glory, all the power, all of it. As long as I could keep her. There were so many times, before I finally sent that letter to her, that I was on the edge of the forest with my horse, ready to run away, to run after her. Ready to spend the rest of my days living on the run, living as a bandit, so long as I was with her. If I hadn't been so closely watched all the time, I would have done it. I would have gone after her, would have found her, and we could have spent our entire lives living in a six foot wide cave for all I cared. As long as I was with her. All that mattered then, all that still matters now, is her. _

… _No offense, Pen. You're great too. _

_By the way, I'm not sick. _

She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

So she does a little of both.

Lovesick, always, that's the two of them.

But as she sits down next to him to read more of their story from his perspective, she knows more than she's ever known anything else in her life, that it is so completely worth it.


	10. 10

**Prompt: Snowing Cinderella&Thomas' wedding driving each other crazy with subtle touches... **

"This was a bad, bad idea," she says after finally catching her breath.

Behind her, holding her, Charming shifts. "I wouldn't so much call it an idea as a simultaneous and mutual losing of minds. And I wouldn't call it bad… more like mind-blowingly good."

When she turns to look at him, his smile is satisfied, if sleepy, and she wonders at his continued unfailing ability to make everything dirty even when he looks about ready for a nap.

Playfully, she slaps at his bicep.

"You know what I meant," she laughs, surveying the room, the wreckage they'd bestowed upon it. "Our dressing room," she sighs.

At this, he looks around too. "Huh. This was tidy once, wasn't it?"

"Forty-five minutes ago it was. And then…"

She wouldn't have figured he could have managed it, but his smile goes even more smug, and she can practically see the memories playing through his mind. "Ah, and then. My favourite part of any story."

She snorts, pulling herself up to stand. "You enjoy some rather inappropriate stories," she comments, looking around the room. She moves to straighten a frame on the wall, then does a double take.

"Wait…" she says, confused, looking across the room at the disaster that has become her vanity table, pointing at it. "We started on there… when did we end up against the wall?"

He shrugs, innocently. "I needed more leverage."

She would never have imagined a _smile_ could be risque, but his manages it.

And actually, now that he's said it, she vaguely remembers him picking her up off the table, damn near sprinting across the room with her in his arms, and slamming her up against the wall.

She can feel herself flushing at the memory, and tries to play it off by being flip. "My vanity wasn't support enough for you?"

"When it comes to you, my dear, nothing's ever enough for me." He smirks at her, gaze sharpening. "Though you must admit, getting you up higher than me worked out nicely."

She's fairly sure someone turned up the heat on her again. Also pretty sure that a certain blue-eyed prince is responsible, and she glares at him.

"Don't you be thinking things again! Not now… we're going to be late, and we cannot be late to Ella and Thomas's wedding."

He glances out towards the window. "We're not going to be late. We've got three hours before we need to set out for their castle."

Damn if his ability to tell time by the sun's position in the sky won't ever cease to make her jealous.

She laughs, lightly, teasing. "It's their _wedding_, Charming. Formal. Have you any idea how long it takes a woman to ready herself for a royal ball? Hours. And that's without having to somehow figure out a way to tame sex hair."

He stares at her, honestly bewildered. "But you're beautiful, right now."

Well, damn it.

Now she has to kiss him again.

—-

"That was your fault," she insists, desperately, as she fiercely scrubs at her skin in a tub full of barely lukewarm water. "The time before that too. And now we're really late."

"Excuse me?" he laughs incredulously, having no trouble at all deciphering what his wife was talking about. "My darling, you jumped me."

"I wouldn't have had to if you weren't always saying things."

"Saying things?"

"Pretty things. Things that make my clothes fall off. Or, if the clothes are already off, make me jump on top of you. Again. Ergo, your fault."

He wonders if being so completely delighted by one's wife one hundred percent of the time is a usual hallmark for marriage, and then decides that his is just special.

"Snow," he declares, "the vanity was mutual. I take full responsibility and delighted pride in transferring it to the wall. The floor, that was all you. In fact, most of the time, it's all you."

She stands up, pulling herself out of the tub and wrapping a bath sheet around herself in near the same motion, mock glaring at him. "Is _that_ what you think?"

He's smug about it. "It's what I know."

She smirks at him, challenging. "Any interest in a wager on that?"

His eyebrow raises, already interested. "How exactly could we bet on that?"

She seems pleased with herself, which worries him, and she slinks right up against him, stealthy as a cat, places a kiss to the scar on his jaw, works her way up to his ear, sliding her lips up his jawline all the while, then whispers to him, their own little secret. "Simple. We spend tonight seeing which of the two of us is better at resisting the other. How did you just put it? 'Jumped'? Whoever 'jumps' the other first when we make it back here after the wedding loses."

He feels a shiver go down his spine, hopes she didn't notice, knows she does. "But what will I win?"

She laughs easily, noticing the wording. "The winner gets whatever they want, of course."

He is rather loving the sound of this.

"Terms? Am I allowed to touch you? Kiss you?"

She smiles at him coquettishly, pulling in her bottom lip to bite. "Of course. How could I torture you without being able to touch you?"

He shakes his head at her fondly. "And how 'far' is this touching allowed to go?"

She hums, thinking about it. "Sensual is acceptable. Sexual is admitting defeat."

Damn if that's not a succinct way of putting it.

"Well then, my dear," he murmurs, stroking a hand down her neck and across her collarbone. "Let the games begin."

—-

He thinks, maybe, one day, eventually, he will learn that playing games with his wife is never as easy as he imagines it's going to be.

He figures that out pretty quickly as he waits for her at the bottom of the grand staircase in their castle, and when she finally emerges, he's concerned his jaw may drop.

No one had warned him that her wearing a _strapless_ gown was an option.

She's _gorgeous_. Her gown is a light purple, a colour he'd never seen her wear before and knows immediately he wants to see her wear again and again. The jewellery to match is lovely, slightly more subtle than the elaborate pieces she'd worn to their own wedding, but beautiful in its own way. Her hair is done up in a complicated updo, her make-up light and romantic. She's glowing, and he knows that's all her, all natural, her delight in the occasion and her life and the game she's playing with him tonight. It makes her stunning.

Fairest of them all.

He thinks the fact that he wants her already might not bode well for him.

She tilts her head, innocently, as if she didn't know how he was feeling, as if she hadn't spent the last hour and a half preparing to torture him with every tool she has in her arsenal, and her extraordinary beauty is definitely one of them.

"Ready to go, Charming?"

He smiles at her, genuine and real, taking a split second away from the game. "Not quite yet," he murmurs, reaching for her gloved hand, placing a kiss upon it. "You are the most beautiful thing I will ever see."

She looks down, almost shy, just for a moment, before looking back up at him. "You don't clean up too badly yourself."

He grins.

"Now I'm ready to go."

—-

It is, she thinks, a painful sort of torture.

She always was her own worst enemy.

They've made it to their friends' wedding, somehow on time, Charming watching the sun as its setting light shone through the carriage, lightly squeezing her knee every time he told her they still had time to spare.

She supposes it could have been construed as a reassuring gesture. By someone who wasn't her, that is, and by someone who wasn't playing a wildly inappropriate, rather dangerous game with their husband.

They both play it completely innocent during the ceremony, by unspoken rule and agreement. He wraps an arm around her just as Ella is saying her vows, and with tears in her eyes, she leans her head on his shoulder. It's a rather blatant public display of affection, especially for a visiting royal couple, but people the kingdoms over had long ago come to accept the rather unusual appearance of a couple who were so madly in love they didn't make any effort to hide it.

Ella and Thomas are happy. The wedding ceremony is perfect. And as is only appropriate, she and her husband are both on their best behaviour the entire time.

The ball following, however, is another story. There are dances to be danced, and other royals and nobles whom they must interact with, but for the most part, they are able to spend the evening side-by-side, subtly torturing each other.

She realizes pretty quickly that Charming's going to be pulling out all the stops, when he leans over while she's in the middle of a discussion with Prince Eric, to whisper in her ear asking if she wants a drink.

Perfectly innocent. Chivalrous, even.

Except he's managed to get their bodies angled whereby her own blocks much of Eric's view of Charming, making it all to easy for her husband to pull her ear lobe between his lips and lightly, so gently, give it a bite.

She hopes Eric doesn't notice when she has to close her eyes to keep herself together.

She knows Charming notices when she's just slightly shaky in her nod of thanks.

He's going to have to pay for that one.

—-

Torture can be exquisite too. The eviler, the better.

The royals attending the wedding have all joined together for a traditional, highly complicated dance, that sends them all spinning in circles around each other, rotating partners as the chords of the music repeat. The key to the dance is that married or betrothed couples are never each other's partner in the dance, but are always near each other anyway, frequently ending up dancing back-to-back.

It is meant to be a playful way of teasing one's romantic partner, by showing off all one's 'other' potential suitors.

He's always hated it, and Snow knows that.

So the fact that she somehow keeps figuring out ways to touch him during each rotation of partners, a slide of her body against his here, a stroke of her hand there…

Well.

Exquisite torture, indeed.

She's dancing with Thomas now, just after her boldest move yet - somehow getting the timing right to place a kiss to his jaw without breaking the dance up at all. He can see the younger man laughing, blatantly amused, and Thomas must feel his gaze, for he looks over and winks.

Snow looks over too, Thomas clearly having just said something, and when they make eye contact, she smiles, teasing, then blows him a kiss.

He can only shake his head at them both, impossibly fond.

—-

She curls her feet with his as they eat.

He places a hand on her leg and leaves it there for the duration of their five course meal, occasionally squeezing. He thinks that eating it all one-handed is quite the feat.

She keeps leaning over, giving him light, deceptively innocent kisses to the scar on his jaw, which she knows - and regularly shamelessly exploits - is a weak spot for him.

He gets his though, kissing her ear, her neck, her collarbone, and her fabulously exposed to him shoulders. (He knew he'd figure out a way to turn her strapless gown against her eventually).

At this point, he's pretty sure the entire royal table is laughing at them, amused. The wine and alcohol are flowing, the times are happy, and everyone present is under a rather cheerful buzz. Everyone notices that Snow White and Prince James can't keep their hands off each other, and still, no one cares.

He's pretty sure Snow might have even told Ella what was going on between them, judging from the young, innocent princess's wide-eyed stares. She seems more entertained than anyone else, and he's quite happy to put on a show.

But then Snow reaches to wrap his arm around his shoulders, begins stroking her fingers through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, gently scratching her nails around his neck too, in random patterns.

It feels absurdly good.

And also, the gesture is so insanely sensual, so beautiful, so _her_, that he feels like he's at risk of losing then and there, witnesses be damned.

He doesn't know what to do about that.

—-

They dance some more.

No longer choreographed, elaborate dances either. There is no more rotating of partners, no more customs or traditions that must be adhered to.

Just music, and swaying couples, and _her_ in his arms.

If he's got her pulled in tighter to his body than would usually be acceptable in public, what of it?

The party is winding down anyway, and there are not nearly as many people left there to see.

She looks so happy, content in his arms, and as always, he feels almost overcome by how desperately he loves her, and how much he always, always needs her to know it.

"I love you," he murmurs.

She smiles at him with heavy lidded eyes. "Oh, I know."

At this, he has to laugh.

—-

They make it home very late in the night, closer to sunrise than midnight, having taken their time saying good-bye to Ella and Thomas, expressing their congratulations. The carriage ride back is long but easy, and Snow spends the entirety of it perched in his lap, wrapped in his arms, her head on his shoulder. Like that, they are both able to doze, even sitting up, and it's enough sleep for them both that when their driver awakens them at their castle doors, they are both, quickly, wide awake.

They slip away to their chambers quietly and with little fanfare, neither of them wanting to overwhelm the workers of the castle with their late return. She looks into a mirror, begins pulling pins out of her hair, shaking out her curls as she does it, until her hair flows free and wild.

He has to look away, wanting her.

He turns into their dressing room to strip away his formal wear, handle it carefully, while Snow disappears into their washroom.

He can't resist looking around the room, smiling satisfied at the mess that they hadn't had the chance to tidy yet. The memory alone is enough to make him want her again, desperately, and he wonders at how he's going to break her before he breaks himself, which feels dangerously close to happening.

He changes into a pair of basic black pants, doesn't bother with a shirt at all, and returns to their bedroom, just as Snow is exiting the washroom.

He _knows_ his jaw hits the floor this time.

She is wearing a slip the exact colour her gown had been, the same light purple that had floored him earlier. If anything, it's a slightly lighter shade, mockingly innocent, for the silky, lace outlined garment is _tiny_, hardly covering her at all. Miles, and miles of her milky skin are perfectly visible to his hungry stare.

And she's not even paying attention to him at all, as she looks around the room, walks right past him to peer into their destroyed dressing room.

"Have you seen my dressing robe?" she asks, innocently. "I was thinking I'd go down to the kitchens, I feel like cocoa."

He shakes his head, mute.

She looks down at herself, her barely covered body, then shrugs. "Well, no one else is awake in the castle right now anyway."

She turns towards the door.

She doesn't make it two steps.

"Oh, hell no," he proclaims, as he runs to make a grab for her, allowing his momentum to propel them both towards the door, his body pinning hers against it. He reaches for her face, directing it towards his own, not difficult considering their bodies are as close, as intertwined as is humanly possible without actually being connected.

Which, you know, he intends to progress to as soon as possible.

He kisses her, passionate, demanding, hands already pulling at the straps of her slip, leaving no doubt as to what his intent is.

"Uh," she pants once he finally abandons her lips to work his way down her neck to her chest. "For the record, this means you lost."

"Screw it," he mutters from the valley between her breasts, allowing himself to flashback for just a second to losing a swordfight to her not all that long ago. "Losing to you tends to work out well for me anyway."

"Mmm," she hums in agreement. "I like to make it - ah - worth it for you. You should lose more often. I promise to reward you for it."

He swears his brain goes offline completely, and suddenly getting all remaining clothes off as quickly as possible seems a fantastic idea.

"Huh," she mutters, still too capable of speech for his liking, as she watches him desperately pull off his pants. "We going vertical again?"

"Yeah, we're not making it to the bed."

—-

Bed comes hours later, her body sprawled over his, sated. He's still kissing her, her hair, her forehead, any part of her beautiful face he can reach.

"You know," he murmurs after placing a kiss to her left ear. I believe you have a prize to demand."

She smiles, so satisfied. "Yes, I believe I do."

He chuckles, low and deep. "Are you going to let me in on that little secret?"

"Mmhmm," she murmurs, turning in his arms to rest her head on his chest. "Tomorrow, we're going back to the Enchanted Forest."

That throws him.

"And what, may I ask, are we going to do there?"

She bites her bottom lip, peers up at him through her lashes, deceptively innocent. "We're going to go back to where we first lay eyes on each other, that part of the trail where you tackled me from a horse and you were oh so shocked to find that I was a girl. And I'm going to ride you there, proving to you exactly how much of a woman I am. And then, once I've had my fill of you, I'm going to lie back, and let you take me, however you want me, right there in the grass."

He's pretty sure he just swallowed his own tongue.


	11. 11

**Prompt: ****Charming loves combing Snow's long hair so one night when she comes in their bedroom with shorter hair, he is horrified **

They have a system, once the baby is born.

They still have two kingdoms to run, after all, and that's not a one person job, but Emma must always, always come first, and they both insist on her always having one of her parents with her. They have a nanny on staff who they summon in only when there is a matter that desperately needs both of their attention. Otherwise, their daughter is theirs, and the idea of her being raised by a team of nannies and minders is absolutely abhorrent to them both.

Ergo, the system.

Mondays and Wednesdays are his regular days to take off with Emma. Tuesdays and Thursdays, Snow gets. They alternate Fridays and Saturdays together, making it so that every week rotated between them, one of them is with their daughter for four straight days, for on Sundays, they both take the day off together, insisting on there being no council meetings or open sessions, for they need time to spend as a family.

It works. For them, it works. They've been doing things this way for going on three years now, and the kingdoms are both flourishing. Sometimes at night, lying in bed, wrapped in each other's arms, they whisper to each other about the possibility of a full merger of the kingdoms, the logistics of it, if it was even possible.

It would make life far easier. And it would give Emma, and any future children (and there _will_ be future children) one hell of a legacy.

But for now, they're good. He falls more in love with his wife every single day, and Emma, Emma is the very best thing in his life. His days with her are treasured; his days taking his turn in council generally spent wondering what she's doing with her mama, wishing he could join them.

She's a rambunctious little girl, and clever, learning new things everyday.

He misses her, misses their family, every hour he spends without them.

—-

It's a typical Tuesday. Council wraps up after four hours, a mercifully short day, and he escapes the stifling chambers just after two in the afternoon, and takes the back stairs almost at a sprint up to the royal family's personal living quarters.

He thinks that Emma should have just gone down for her afternoon nap, and indeed, when he peeks into her nursery, she's dozing in her 'big girl bed' - progressed to with no small amount of pride on her part and no shortage of tears on her parents' - wrapped tight and cozy in blankets, clutching 'Weebles', her precious unicorn stuffed animal with an iron clad grip.

He can tell by her breathing that his little girl is not quite sound asleep yet, so he takes a risk when he goes tiptoeing into her room - if she gets excited by him, there will be no calming her back down - but struck dumb by how much he loves this tiny human, it's a risk he can't resist. He kneels down on the floor by the head of her little bed, strokes her hair, places a kiss to her forehead.

She blinks, thankfully sleepily, and when she looks at him, it's through half lidded eyes, as though she's already about to doze right back off. A smile, already so like Snow's, twists her lips.

"Love you, Daddy," she murmurs.

He could swear his heart swells, impossibly content. "Daddy loves you too, Baby. Go back to sleep."

"Kay," she says on a sigh, and he knows she's already halfway back to dreaming.

—-

He turns to his and Snow's bedchambers next, intending to change out of his formal 'prince' wear into something vaguely more comfortable, and he's in the adjourning washroom washing his face at the basin when he hears the door latch click from the other room.

"Charming?" Snow softly calls.

"In here," he replies.

"You got out early today," she says, closer to, sounding pleased.

"Less arguing today," he agrees. "Seemed as though you wore the fight out of the nobles yesterday," and sensing her in the doorway, he turns to deliver her with a proud grin, when he has to do a double take.

Her hair is _short_.

Far shorter than he's used to, anyway, far from the mass of long, wild curls that have always fascinated him. Many times in fact, when they'd been able to have quiet nights together, he'd long loved taking the chance to pamper his wife by helping her with washing her hair, then gently, so gently, combing it out for her. She's always enjoyed the feeling of having her hair played with, breaking out in goosebumps every time he so much as touches one of her curls, and he just loves being able to do something, just for her. It works out for both of them.

And suddenly, much of her curls are just gone.

"What did you _do_?" he asks, incredulous.

It's not super short, he thinks, as he stares at her, as he watches her face turn pink. Shorter than shoulder length, but not by too much, passing her ears easily, and the ends dangle at her chin. The shorter length has tamed her hair, from a riot of curls to gentle waves.

She's embarrassed, having a hard time meeting his eye. "Um," she clears her throat, "your daughter and I played beauty salon this morning."

At this he snorts, though he suspects he shouldn't. "You let our three-year-old at your hair with a pair of scissors?"

She manages to laugh at that. "Of course not. No, I was playing with Em's hair, finger combing it. You know how I like the feeling of when you play with my hair, I started wondering if she would be the same way. I think she will be, she seemed to like it, but then she got restless and insisted that she have a turn. I believe her exact words were 'I do you now, Mama!'. I didn't see any harm in it at a time, but she had a far longer attention span than I expected her to have when she had her hands in my hair. She was probably playing for just shy of an hour, and I just didn't _think_ of how much she might have been knotting it all up until it was too late."

He has to chuckle. "I take it you went to Pierre after that?"

"Yes. Emma seemed to consider the whole thing quite the adventure. And Pierre attempted to comb it all out, but… well, it _hurt." _

He nods, solemn. "Pity I wasn't there. I could have fixed it."

She laughs. "It's sad, but yes, you probably could have done more to save my hair than the royal stylist. You know just how gentle to be. But at any rate, he was pulling at another knot, and Emma was looking at all his brushes like nothing could be more fun than throwing them all on the floor…"

Throwing things has indeed become their daughter's new favourite pastime.

"And I just grabbed her before she could do any damage, put her on my lap, and told Pierre to just cut it… and this is what I ended up with."

For a few long moments, he's quiet, staring at her and her face, so hopeful, falls.

"It'll grow out," she says, voice wavering only slightly. "I know it's not how you like it…"

And he has to cut her off, has to make her understand, that the reason he was staring at her is to attempt to wrap his head around how much she suits her hair cut this way, something so completely different, when she's always looked so beautiful too with such lengthy curls.

"Do you have any idea," he says, fiercely, "how lovely you look right now?"

She looks stunned. "Um?"

"I love your curls. You know I do. You're stunning with them, most of all when they're out of control after we've made love. But my darling, please, please do not doubt how beautiful you are to me right this minute, your hair now falling into gentle waves. Your hair doesn't matter. In fact, I'm certain you could pull off any style. Hey, try a pixie cut next, you'll look amazing with that too. All the more I can see of your gorgeous face."

She's laughing at him now, radiant. "I think I shall stick with growing it back out for now. I shall miss you playing with my curls."

He pulls her into his arms. "Who says I'm stopping? I shall just play with waves for a few months."

She smiles at him, obviously happy. And also more than a little relieved, which he doesn't like, because he knows it means she was worried about his reaction.

He kisses her, quick, a peck on the lips meant as a reassurance, a promise. "You are beautiful. Do not ever doubt that."

"You make me feel it," she murmurs, almost shy.

"Good," he says, moving to kiss her again, longer, deeper this time. "That's a start," he continues against her lips. "I think I shall spend the rest of this afternoon making you feel it over, and over, and over again…"


	12. 12

**Prompt: ****1st time Snowing is left alone after 28 being apart and after Snow & Emma came back home from FTL. Tons of cuddles! **

She's so tired.

He can feel it in her body, the way she leans on him, trusting all her weight over to him to keep upright (they both know he'd never let her fall).

She's basically given up all pretense at this point, burying her head at the crook of his neck, her hand clutched in his shirt, exactly the way that near three decades ago he'd dared to imagine his baby would.

It's a painful thought, but if clutching at him is what she needs right now, it's what he will happily give her.

Grumpy notices how fast she's fading sooner than anyone else does. He always did understand Snow the best, and in his gruff but still so caring way he demands that everyone take off, to let Snow and Emma get the sleep that they clearly badly need.

There are many hugs exchanged, Snow managing to keep herself upright for a few moments, though she never strays far from his own reach. Emma, he notices, still seems wary of everybody, of people she hadn't known well suddenly loving her, loving her because she was Snow and Charming's daughter.

It'd be overwhelming for anyone he thinks, and he has to understand the way she sticks so close to Henry, every bit as much as Snow clings to him.

Mother and daughter, so alike even if they don't quite realize it yet, both going to who they needed.

Red is the last to leave, after a teary embrace with Snow - "You're _not_ allowed to go on an adventure without me ever again" - and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Emma groans longingly.

"_Shower._"

Snow snorts out a laugh from where she'd immediately returned to his embrace. "_Bed_," she replies. "On a _mattress_."

"_Food_," Emma counters.

"_Family," _Snow says, and there's a finality to it.

"Okay," Emma says, placing a kiss on the top of Henry's head. "You win."

They all laugh, easily, and he finds himself a bit in awe of it. Emma still might not know what to make of anything yet, but there is a bond between her and her mother now, and it's a beautiful thing.

He can only hope he gets a chance too.

"Okay, kid," Emma says, "I think you'll be hanging out with me for the night. And I've decided it's bedtime, so come on, upstairs we go."

Enthralled with having his mother home, the boy doesn't argue. "Kay! Night Gramps! Glad you're home Grams!"

That's going to be weird for her for awhile, he thinks, as he watches Snow's face, sees how stunned she is by Henry's easy affection.

They'll all get used to their new reality together, he thinks, and that's just the way it should be.

"Night," Emma says, her expression saying a million things that she just can't yet, and she turns to follow Henry, who'd gone bounding up the stairs.

"Hey Em?" he calls, watching as she turns back to face him, swallowing at the longing on his daughter's face.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're home," he says, simply.

She actually smiles at him. "Me too."

—-

He comes out from the shower to find his wife has buried herself face down into their pillows, sheets and blankets twisting around her body. She's dead centre in the middle of the mattress, limbs stretched out, as if trying to experience her entire bed at once.

He has to laugh, so warm, so fond, so relieved that she's here, hogging the bed that he intends to wiggle into himself, somehow.

"Hey," he says, kneeling next to the head of the bed.

She turns her head slightly, cracks one eye open. "Mmm?"

If it's the best he's going to get, he'll take it.

He grins at her, so in love. "Shove over, or I'll make you."

She closes her eyes again, but he can see a smile has stretched across her face. "Making me sounds fun."

He chuckles. "If you insist." He pulls all the blankets back, to his wife's outraged shriek, picks her up - easily - slides his own body onto the bed, puts her down, arranging her against him in the most comfortable position possible for them both (her body essentially draping over his, because he _needs_ her in his arms right now, then pulls the blankets up, covering them both.

Snow actually groans in delight, turning her face into his neck again, cuddling closer. "You're right. This is better."

"This is _perfect_," he corrects, kissing her hair. "You're _home_. You're really, really here, safe in my arms, where I can feel you."

"I'm home," she agrees, "because you're here."

"I missed you so much," she says on a content sigh. "I nearly lost it completely when I woke up from finding you in the fire room - which by the way, you're in so much trouble for - I just, I freaked right out. Em had to kind of take over for a bit, be the strong one. Which she did fantastically. She stepped right up. She's amazing, so strong, so brave."

"Just like her Mom."

She laughs, sniffling just a little. "Yeah, she kind of is. I didn't really expect that. But there's so much of me in her, so much of you too, and I just… I'm just really excited for her to get to figure that out too. Get to know us more, as her parents."

"I get some moments with her?" he says, teasing. "A lovely little bond, like you two have?"

Her smile comes easily. "You'll have all the time in the world for it. We're here now. All of us."

He has to kiss her at that, but keeps it short, pulling back quickly, serious now, needing her to know something.

"I tried to dive in after you," he says, agony in his voice. "The portal. It closed just before I could, I literally crashed into the floor just as it closed. I didn't want to be without you, I wanted to go with you both. I didn't want to lose you again. I promise you, I tried."

She touches his face, so gentle. "I know," she murmurs.

"You know?"

"Of course I do. You wouldn't have let us do it alone if you could help it. My Gods, Charming, you put yourself under a _sleeping curse_ so you could see me."

"I needed to," he whispers. "I'm so tired of being without you."

She nods, almost encouragingly. "And that's how I know. We need each other. Red told me never to go off without her again, and I laughed and agreed, but we both know, we _all_ know, when the next adventure comes - and it will, because it's us - it'll always you and me."

"Always," he agrees.

"So of course I knew you tried to come after me. I know you. I know _us_."

"I love you so. I never want you out of my arms again."

Cuddling up against him, resting her head on his chest, she sighs, content. "That can be arranged, I think, for I never want to leave them. I love you too. So very much."

"Go to sleep now," he says. "You need it."

"Mmm," she hums. "But the fire room. You're going to go back there."

"Yes," he says simply. "It's worth it to me. It was part of getting you back, here, with me. I can never regret that. Nothing else matters. I can deal with the dreams. The price is worth it to me."

"I'm going to try and get back there too," she declares, determined. "So I can be there with you. I will try."

He smiles, indulgent, kisses her, a good night and a thank you and an I love you all in one. "I know you will."

—-

She makes it there.

And when he turns and sees her, he's stunned.

"You… you didn't have the sleeping powder. How are you here?"

She smiles at him. "I really, really needed some sleep. Guess it's deep enough."

He raises an eyebrow at her, suspicious.

"And," she continues. "I guess you really can't doubt the power of true love. I needed to be here with you. So I made it happen."

"Most powerful magic of all," he says, not without some awe.

She beams at him. "I love you," she promises.

"I love you," he replies. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

He repeats it, over and over again, a chant, and she joins in, for the three little words alone make the room more bearable.

"I love you," they say together. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

They huddle together, as close as possible in a land they cannot touch in, to wait out the flames.


	13. 13

**Prompt: ****It's the night before their official wedding. They can't sleep 'cause they can't be apart so 1 of them sneaks into the room! **

Two months before the wedding, they'd moved to Snow's kingdom.

He'd insisted upon it, quite frankly, during one of the rare moments he got alone with his (secret) wife.

"You're the princess," he'd murmured in her ear. "Your royalty is true. We should give our wedding to your kingdom."

She'd looked delighted in a way he couldn't understand. He'd expected her to be happy with the idea, of course, but this reaction, this sly thrill?

If he knew her (and he did), his love was up to something.

He'd raised an eyebrow at her, communicating his suspicion without words.

She'd just grinned at him, innocent as any angel, and kissed his cheek.

She could communicate without words too.

_Later, darling_.

—-

She'd insisted he take the king's suite, which stunned him in the moment.

"Snow… your father…"

"Is gone," she says, amazingly strong for it. "I loved him very dearly, but he's gone, and he's been gone for a very long time. You are here. _We_ are here. This is our kingdom now. You're ruling it with me. After our wedding, we shall move together into the royal couple's chambers, but for now, I shall be in the queen's rooms, and I want you in the king's.

He blinks at her for a few long moments, then smiles, lets his eyes go hooded. "We should be in the royal couple's chambers right now. You're my _wife_."

Her smile doesn't change.

"Secret wife," she chides, so teasing. "No one else knows about that little detail."

"Can't we just tell them?" he whines playfully. "Hey everyone," he announces to the empty courtyard, "I'm actually already married to her, so can I sleep with her now?"

She actually howls with laughter.

"Shush!" she finally manages. "Someone could hear."

"Yes," he agrees, delighted as he always is by the sound of her laughter, wanting more of it. "The empty benches are finding us quite scandalous right now."

"Gossip hungry inanimate objects," she sighs between giggles. "Such a pain."

He laughs back at her, loving her, wanting her.

(It's unfortunate he's pretty sure he'd get caught if he just lay her down on the nearest flat surface).

(Not to mention the fact that the benches would probably be scarred for life).

Managing to calm herself down, she smiles at him, still so easily. "I know it's frustrating," she says. "I want you too. It won't be long now. The wedding is only two months away."

"Might as well be a lifetime," he grumbles. "I want you in my arms _now_."

She tsks at him. "Takes the king's suite," she orders. "I promise, it's not going to be as bad as you think."

—-

He lies awake that night, grumbling to himself, punching at his pillow. He can't sleep, hasn't managed to in some time, and knows it's because Snow isn't with him. And it's every bit as bad as he thought it was going to be.

It's rather amazing, he thinks, that a few nights spent with Snow in a tent were enough to make it so that he could not be without her.

He doesn't think insomnia is a very fair punishment for fake pre-marital sex, considering he was perfectly married to her, thank you very much. They just weren't telling anyone about that because Red and Grumpy would take turns killing him if they knew.

It's annoying, because the bed is perfect, the highest quality, fit for the king he will somehow be. He's both warm and cool in all the ways he should be, and the drawings hang open to allow him to see out into the balcony as he prefers, the spectacular views Snow's kingdom has to offer there to fall asleep to.

You know, if he _could_.

Frustrated, he flips his body around for approximately the billionth time, turning onto his left side, and it's just in time for him to see _the wall behind his bed slide open_.

He flies into a seated position, blinking rapidly, but trying to clear his vision doesn't change anything. "Oh great," he says to no one. "Now I'm losing it."

"That's unfortunate," his wife says, walking out from the suddenly opened wall, closing it back up behind her. "I'm so fond of you when you're sane."

He stares at her, looking like a beautiful dream, what with her wild curls and silky white nightgown. "What…?"

She is grinning at him. "Oh, did I forget to mention that there's a secret passage between the king's and queen's rooms in this castle and through all of my kingdom's history the ruling royals are the only ones who ever know about it? Must have slipped my mind."

Comprehension, he thinks, is a beautiful thing. "That's why you were so delighted when I suggested we have the wedding here. Because your castle is so much more fantastic than mine is?"

She nods, pleased with herself.

"That's why you insisted I take these rooms."

"Gold star for the prince," Snow says, teasing. "I haven't been sleeping well without you either. I have no intension of waiting until the wedding, to be in your arms again. We shall spend the next couple months sneaking back and forth, until we can finally be husband and wife publicly."

He reaches for her, pulling her into bed with him. "And no one else knows about this passage?"

She shakes her head. "Technically, you're not even supposed to know about it until the coronation. But I decided to make an exception. Just for you."

He kisses her, so softly. "It's a brilliant plan."

She hums against his lips, thrilling him. "I thought so," she says.

Sliding his hand up her leg, working it up under her nightdress, watching her face carefully, he has to ask. "And are we going to go right to sleep like good little royals?"

"Oh, no. I would never have you stop now," she replies, just slightly strangled. "But we're going to have to be quiet."

"I can work with quiet."

—-

Two months goes by quickly, secretly sleeping with Snow in his arms every night. He's positive Snow is right about the secrecy of the passage, not another soul in the castle seems aware of what they've been up to.

Which works brilliantly for him.

The night before their wedding, he opens up the passage from his end, sneaking through the tunnel in a rush. He feels his way through by memory, for the passage is pitch black - were he to hold his own hand right in front of his face, he wouldn't be able to see it.

Sight being useless, he relies more on his other senses, and hearing something, he reaches out in front of him to grab and steady Snow, just as they were about to crash directly into each other. Even still, her momentum sends them flying together into the back wall with a thud.

"Ooof?" he says as the air gets knocked out of him, making it a question for reasons unknown to him.

"Are you alright?" she demands. "I was running, I didn't hear you coming until it was too late. When I tried to stop I went skidding into you."

"Just fine, dear," he says, more worried about her. "You alright?"

He _feels_ her huffing at him. "You tucked me solidly in your arms and turned your body to take all of the impact yourself. Of course I'm fine."

He nods. "Good."

"Good?" she growls. "Says you. That probably hurt. You can't always sacrifice yourself so I don't get so much as a hangnail."

"I can try?" he says, unapologetic.

He can't see her, but he can picture the look on her face, exasperated, and annoyed, and more amused than she really wants to be.

"What am I going to do with you Charming?" she sighs.

"Whatever you want, my darling," he replies, and he knows she hears the suggestiveness in it when she finally gives up and laughs.

"Alright, fine," she says. "Whose room are we going to?"

He feels playful tonight, happy with his life. Tomorrow they shall be married for all to see, and there will be nothing and no one that keeps him away from her after that.

"Why don't we just stay here?" he asks.

"In the middle of a tiny passage not wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side in?" she asks, more intrigued then incredulous.

"Why not? I'm a big fan of anything that forces me closer together with you."

She laughs. "And what if I want to see you?"

"Then we set off for one of our rooms immediately," he says without pause. "Whatever you want, you get." He lets his voice drop to a whisper then, moves to where he can just sense her ear is. "But I'm of the opinion that it's interesting like this, not being able to see each other. Makes us so much more aware of our other senses, don't you think?"

He bites her ear, so lightly. "Hearing."

He trails his nose down her neck slowly, inhaling the light scent of the perfume she always wears. "Smell."

He kisses across her collarbone, dips his tongue into the hollow at her throat. "Taste."

Kissing her neck as he slides one of his hands up under her nightgown, he cups her breast. "Touch," he says finally, so quietly it's barely a breath of air, but he knows she hears anyway.

Her breathing has gotten staggered and broken up, and he is bearing most of her weight himself, as her knees had just about given up on her.

"Oh Gods," she cries out, breathlessly.

He grins against her, pleased. "I thought so."

She gets her wits back together quicker than he would have hoped. He's going to have to work on getting her out of her mind, and he sets that as a very happy goal for the night before his wedding.

"Go…" she stumbles. "Go back and get a blanket or something. I'll go get pillows. If we're spending the night in a passage, we're going to be comfortable."

"Yes dear," he says cheerfully, letting her go carefully. "Whatever you want."

He's quite happy to make that his life's policy. Whatever Snow wants.

—-

Hours later, they still lay awake together, against the wall, tangled up, breathless, sated.

"We're going to go to our wedding looking like we've spent all night having wild sex," she groans against his shoulder.

"We've looked like that for two months," he says in cheerful reply. "No one's noticed yet."

"Mmm," she shrugs, giving him that point. "Ignorance is bliss, I guess."

He has to laugh at that, even as he kisses her neck. "My darling, if you think _ignorance_ is bliss, I haven't been doing my job right tonight."

She leans back, gives him more access to her neck. "I think I just need another refresher course."

"Happy to oblige," he murmurs, lying her down flat on the blanket-comforted floor.

"We're not going to sleep tonight, are we?" she asks.

"No," he replies, muffled against her breast. "Definitely not."


	14. 14

**Prompt: ****Charming is awoken by Snow & it seems to be all right but one night he lives his worst nightmare. Snow is there though **

Things have been really good, since they've been home.

Oh there's still chaos, of course; situations to be dealt with, adventures to be had. It's just part of their life, long ago accepted as fact.

They know who they are now. Mary Margaret and David, they are parts of them, never to be forgotten, but they are Snow and Charming now, again, and this is their life, following them across lands.

They are who they are.

Emma is adapting well to being their daughter, accepting it. There'd been a situation earlier in the day, where they'd all been in desperate danger, per their usual. Happy had gotten trapped in the mines after a small cave-in, and the three of them had gone in to rescue Snow's friend. They'd just worked Happy back up to the surface where the other dwarves were waiting when another cave wall began collapsing.

Acting on instinct, she'd dove to cover her daughter's body with her own, protecting her, and when the dust settled, there'd been a huge pile of debris just beside them, and Charming no where to be found.

She and Emma had both screamed together in horror, terrified, and she knows to her dying day, she will never forget how desperately Emma had cried out for David.

They'd worked together, frantically, shifting rocks out of the way as quickly as possible.

She's also not ever going to forget the way she could breathe again, the way her daughter's face twisted, the way that relieved tears streamed down Emma's face, the moment that they realized that someone from the other side was helping them.

_Charming_. Charming was alive. Charming was conscious. Charming was unhurt, and working his way back to them every bit as much as they were working their way to him.

"Are you alright?" she and Emma both yelled as one, the second they had cleared a small hole in the wall that had formed between them and the man that meant so much for them both.

"I'm fine," Charming called dismissively. "I care more about you two, you're both alright? Not hurt?"

"Not a scratch," Emma drawled back. "Your wife damn near tackled me away from the collapse, covered my body with hers with no concern for her own safety."

"Good," came Charming's distant reply. Even through a wall of collapsed rock, there's no denying the pride in his voice.

Emma threw her hands up in the air, but there was a terribly moved something in her face that Snow knew better than to comment on.

"Let's get you back over here with us then," Emma finally said.

And when the three of them working together had finally cleared the mess, enough so that they'd made a gap big enough for Charming to walk through and get to them, Emma had gone barreling into her father's stunned but easily welcoming embrace before she herself could so much as move (and when it came to Charming, she moved quick).

"Don't ever get hurt, okay?" Emma had muttered, muffled against him.

"I'm going to do my very best," he promised, holding her against him. He'd looked over at her then, wide eyed and teary, and still holding Emma with his right arm, he'd reached out with his left to gesture her over to them.

She'd stayed back, wanting to let Charming have the moment with their daughter, but the second he indicated he wanted her in there too, she'd been right there, holding Charming the way she needed to.

And when her daughter's hand tapped hers, then linked fingers with her, holding her hand, the moment is perfect, even when Grumpy yells down suggesting they all get a move on.

"I don't mean to interrupt the tender moment," he'd howled, "but can we _please_ get you three out of this death zone?"

They'd all had to laugh, together, and that was perfect too.

—-

That night, she cannot sleep. The last bits of adrenaline in her veins, combined with the leftover fear that still twisted her stomach, and the heart-pounding memory of their daughter, willingly initiating an embrace with them, all of it makes sleep impossible.

Which worries her, terribly, as this night is the very rare occasion when Charming is the opposite of her. He falls into a deep, exhausted sleep almost the moment his head touches the pillow.

She knows, given how deeply he is sleeping, he's going to go back to the fire room.

And she also knows, bitterly, furious with herself for it, that she is incapable of falling into a deep enough sleep tonight to be there with him.

She touches his face, frozen in sleep.

"I'm here," she whispers, knowing he can't hear her, needing to do it anyway. "I promise you, my love, I'm here."

"You're going to be alright."

"I love you," she says finally, starting the chant that had gotten them through so many nights in the fire room together. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

—-

_It's different, this time. He feels it as soon as he arrives._

_His head is foggy, when usually in this land, this world, it is perfectly clear. He feels confused, cannot think, keeps thinking he's seeing things that aren't there, shapes, shadows, but when he spins to face them, they've disappeared._

_Dreaming within the dream netherland, he tells himself, trying to believe it, though it's hard._

_He's never had this happen before._

_It scares him. He finds himself suddenly filled with a profound sense of dread, a premonition, fear of what he's about to see, but somehow, he cannot stop himself from walking forward, past a giant flame._

_When he sees it, he screams out in agony._

_Snow's body is lying on the floor._

_"No!" he yells out, running towards her, trying to reach her, trying to touch her, recoiling in shock when he finds that he can._

_Because when she was here with him, when she was alive, he never could touch her._

_"NO!" he screams, pulling her body into his arms, the only cold thing in the room. "No, no, no, no, no. SNOW! You have to wake up! Snow, you cannot leave me! SNOW!"_

_Somehow through his cries, through his tears, he hears a thud from behind him, and still holding the body of his true love, he spins, then cries out, a wordless scream of pain, at this new horror before him. _

_His daughter's body. _

_"EM!" he screams. "NO, NO, NO. EMMA!" _

_He runs towards her, carrying his love all the while, but just as he reaches her, he hears that terrible noise again, and he knows, just knows, what he's going to see even before he turns. _

_"HENRY!" he cries, screaming to demons that exist only within his own head. "No, no, no, not my family, please! Take me instead! Not them, please, please, not them!" _

—-

She gasps for breath, near hyperventilating through tears, choking on it. She cannot think, cannot figure out what to do, cannot focus on anything but her husband's clearly tortured dreams.

Charming is screaming for all of them in his sleep, crying out, in the worst agony she's ever seen of him, and she can only imagine with stomach-twisting horror what he is seeing in his dreams.

"We're alive," she cries out, touching his prone body, his chest, his face. "We're here. I promise you, it's not real, I promise you it will be okay, but you have to wake up, you have to wake up, you have to wake up."

Her husband is sobbing now as he sleeps, and she chokes back the instinct to be sick to her stomach. "I love you," she cries. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

All the candles in the world can't help this, though she's tried lighting every one in the apartment. And she realizes, painfully, that a chant that cannot reach him does not help him either.

She's determined not to leave him, but she does for barely a moment, running upstairs to make sure Emma and Henry are both sound asleep, that they cannot hear this, and she thanks the Gods for this one small mercy when she finds that they are. Closing their bedroom door tight once more, she shoves a blanket towards the crack at the bottom of the door, hoping its presence will be enough to muffle any sound traveling upstairs, then she runs back to her husband, still unmoving, still crying out.

She knows she cannot shake him, cannot force him awake, for with the dream as bad as it clearly is right now, if she were to try to forcefully remove him from the fire room, she knows in all likelihood she'd burn him terribly.

She _cannot_ put him through another such agony.

But there's one thing left to try, she thinks, her head finally clear, and it won't tear him away from the netherland. If anything, it should gently wake him, let him pull out of the dream himself, and that's what he needs right now.

"Please work," she whispers to nothing but the flickering candlelight of their apartment. "Please Gods, _work_."

And as she says it, she kisses his shaking lips.

She feels a shiver of hope when she feels the pressure of him kissing back.

He startles awake, gasping in air, forcing himself up into a seated position the moment he's out of the dream, reaching for her before he's even fully conscious.

"Snow," he cries out, holding her, pulling her into his lap, clutching her to him as close as is humanly possible. "You're alive?"

"Yes," she chokes, unable to say more than that.

"It wasn't real?"

"No," she cries, tears equally of relief and pain. "No, no, I promise you, that wasn't real, _this_ is. I'm right here, in your arms, and Emma and Henry are asleep upstairs."

"I need to see them," he insists fiercely.

She nods at him vigorously. "I know you do," she says, trying to wiggle out of his arms, with the intent of taking his hand and walking upstairs with him. "Let's go now."

He doesn't let her go. "No, no, no," he demands frantically. "You can't go anywhere!"

"Okay," she whispers, soothing. "Okay, I'm right here. I'm staying right here. How about this, can you carry me up so we can see them?"

He thinks about it for barely a second, then agrees. "I can do that," he says, voice still wavering, but when he stands up, with her cradled in his arms, his grip and hold on her is steady, and he makes his way up the staircase carefully, without a stumble.

His hands full, she reaches out, twists the doorknob, pushes the door open.

For a moment she fears he'll want to wake them up, want to go running into the room and gather them all, somehow into his arms the way he's got her now, and she fears that would terrify them, but no. He calms, just standing in the doorway, holding her, watching the rest of their family sleep.

"I'm okay," he whispers finally, after about twenty minutes of them there. "We can go back down now, leave them to sleep."

"Okay," she whispers back in reply.

"I can't let you go yet though."

"Okay."

—-

He's quiet for a long time, just sitting with her in their bed. He hasn't let her go yet, and she has no inclination to try to pull away.

"I love you," is all she says, repeating it in a quiet chant. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

From the way he keeps placing soft kisses to her hair, she suspects it's helping.

"Thank you," he finally says. "Thank you for saving me."

She doesn't argue with him, for from what she'd heard him crying out, to wake him up from that kind of torture certainly counts as a save.

"Always," she promises.

"I don't…" he stumbles, tries again. "I'm not ever going to want to talk about it."

"I know," she says softly. "I'm here. I'll just be here, in your arms, for as long as you need me."

"Forever?" he asks.

"Forever works for me."

He nods, kissing her forehead. "It was your kiss that woke me from it?"

She swallows. "It was. I couldn't think of anything else I could do. I could barely think at all. It's my fault," she cries, breaking down. "My fault."

"No," he insists, horrified she would even think it.

"No, no, no, you were yelling out, screaming for me, for our family, and it was like I was frozen, I couldn't think of what to do for you, it shouldn't have taken me that long to think to try kissing you!"

"I wouldn't have expected it to be one of your first thoughts," he says. "It's never worked before. Do you have any idea how many times I'd kiss you, when you were caught in the fire room? It would never wake you up. It's why I started lighting the candles, to do something to try and help" he points out, then looks around their room. "And it looks like you tried lighting every candle in this apartment. The fire room dreams, we just get trapped in them until we're ready to wake up. You did everything you could for me, I know that."

She blinks, letting herself accept it. "Why did my kiss work this time then?"

He sighs out a breath, thinking about it. "I was trapped in my personal hell," he finally answers. "And kissing you, that's my heaven. You turned my hell into my heaven, that's what did it."

She finds herself gasping at that, eyes tearing up. "Still as Charming as ever," she says, sniffling slightly.

"I have a name to live up to," he replies, kissing her.

—-

He never goes back to the fire room again. Whatever happened that night, broke the hold the room had over him. No matter how deeply he sleeps, he never returns.

Just one more way that Snow White saved him.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_

_**These drabbles were written for Alex, Lolly, Angie, and Chelsea. Thank you for the inspiration. Thank you for the challenge. Thank you for being my friends. **_

_**As always, I am tweeting at icingsfanfic. All my twitter followers have been reading these little fics as they were written for the last month. One more reason to follow me - you might just get access to my writing before anyone else does. **_

_**If anyone is interested in reblogging any of these little stories, they ARE available on tumblr as well, also under the name icingsfanfic. **_

_**It's been one hell of a journey. I look forward to the next one. **_

_**Thanks, as always, for reading. **_


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